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Los  Kngeies,  Cal. 


5TAU  NORMAL  SCHOOL, 

Los  Angeles,  Cai. 

A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY 


b'VG 


BY 


CHARLES   DUDLEY  WARNER 


FOURTH   EDITION 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

New  York:  11  East  Seventeenth  Street 

(Sfe  JliViersiDe  press',  CamtriOae 
18S4 


Stu^ 


Copyright,  1883, 
By  CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER. 

All  rights  reserved. 


RIVERSirvE,  CAMnniBOE: 
ELErTBOTTPED     AND   PRINTED   BT 
U.  0.  UOUOUTO.N   A^U  tOMPASX. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

Page 

Out  of  the  Fog  into  the  Sun 1 

CHAPTER  II. 
Ihe  Fountain  of  Vaucluse 7 

CHAPTER  III. 
Avignon  to  NfMEs       17 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Montpeluer        29 

CHAPTER  V. 
Cette 39 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Aigues-Mortes 46 

CHAPTER  VII. 
La  Belle  Maguelonne 59 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Munich  to  Orvieto 68 

CHAPTER  IX. 
Palermo 78 

CHAPTER  X. 

GiRGENTI  AND   CaTANIA 91 


IV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XI. 
Taormina 104 

CHAPTER  XIL 
Syracuse 118 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
Malta 132 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Gibraltar  and  Tangier 144 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Across  Africa 162 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Along  the  Spanish  Coast 191 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
A  Ride  in  Spain 199 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
The  Alhambra 235 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
The  Bull-Fight 255 

CHAPTER  XX. 

MONSERRAT 283 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Random  Spanish  Notes 304 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
Wagner's  Parsifal 333 


NOTES  OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

OUT   OF  THE   FOG  INTO   THE   SUN. 

We  left  Paris  on  the  morning  of  November  8, 1881, 
in  a  dense  fog.  The  difeerence  between  the  fog  of 
Paris  and  the  fog  of  London  is  that  one  is  yellow 
and  the  other  is  black;  both  are  raw  and  piercing, 
and  when  I  am  in  Paris  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  that 
I  prefer  the  latter.  The  Paris  sky  is  gray,  like  its 
houses.  I  do  not  know  why  it  is  that  all  the  large 
capitals  of  the  civilized  world  have  such  unpleasant 
climates,  —  London,  Paris,  St.  Petersburg,  Berlin, — 
New  York,  even  with  its  extremes,  is  better  than 
either. 

We  did  not  escape  from  the  fog  until  we  had  run 
through  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau,  when  the  sun 
came  out  in  ail  its  splendor,  and  we  were  whirled 
along  through  a  cloudless  day,  and  over  a  smiling 
land,  every  inch  of  which  is  cultivated.  The  effect  is 
that  of  a  prairie,  so  extensive  is  the  view ;  but  there 
are  low  hills,  now  and  then,  and  v/ater-courses,  with 
miles  on  miles  of  sentinel  poplars,  and  now  and  then, 


2        NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

on  an  elevation,  a  ruined  tower  marking  some  old 
feudal  domination.  The  fields,  without  fences,  are 
cultivated  in  long  narrow  strips,  in  colors  of  green, 
brown,  and  gray.  Gautier  says  the  country  looks  like 
the  cloth  patterns  pasted  on  cards  which  his  tailor 
sends  him.  Gray  houses  dot  the  landscape  every- 
where ;  gray  villages  with  curious  old  spires  and  tow- 
ers are  frequent  ;  the  long  strips  of  gray  roads  are 
dazzling  white  in  the  sunshine.  Gray  is  the  prevail- 
ing color,  for  France  seems  to  be  all  limestone  and 
chalk,  and  houses,  fields,  and  people  take  this  color  of 
decadence.  At  this  season  there  are  no  vivid  greens  to 
make  a  contrast.  The  foliage,  however,  has  warmth, 
the  forests  showing  rich  brown  and  the  mulberries 
golden  yellow. 

We  travel  express,  none  but  first-class  carriages  be- 
ing on  the  train.  The  fare  also  is  first  class.  The 
distance  from  Paris  to  Aviq,non  is  about  four  hundred 
and  sixty  miles,  and  the  fare  is  over  ninety-one  francs 
—  over  eighteen  dollars.  This  includes  only  a  little 
baggage,  so  that  there  is  a  large  extra  charge  for  that. 
However,  there  are  some  compensations.  We  travel 
fast  and  we  reach  places  at  the  time  named  on  the 
schedule.  This  surprises  Americans,  who  are  accus- 
tomed to  regard  time  tables  on  long  i-outes  as  arranged 
for  the  amusement  of  directors  and  not  for  the  infor- 
mation of  tlie  public.  We  made  the  distance,  four 
hundred  and  sixty  miles,  from  Paris  to  Avignon,  in 
twelve  hours  and  forty  minutes,  and  arrived  on  time. 
This  includes  stoj)s  of  a  half  hour  for  breakfast  at 


OUT  OF  THE  FOG  INTO   THE  SUN.  3 

twelve,  and  a  half  hour  for  dinner  at  six.  There  are, 
besides,  five  other  stops  of  five  minutes  each,  so  that 
the  running  time  is  actually  only  a  little  over  eleven 
hours,  or  (if  I  have  figured  correctly)  over  forty-one 
miles  an  hour. 

Another  good  thing  about  the  journey  was  the  ab- 
sence of  "hot  boxes."  The  only  thing  that  could  bear 
that  name  was  the  hot-water  cans  that  were  given  us 
for  foot-warmers.  Now,  a  real  American  is  not  com- 
fortable without  a  "hot  box"  occasionally  in  the  course 
of  a  long  journey.  It  seems  to  him  that  something 
has  n't  happened. 

The  cars  also  were  exceedingly  easy.  This  was  due 
to  comfortable  seats  and  good  springs  partly,  but 
mainly  to  the  excellence  of  the  road-bed  and  the  per- 
fection of  the  steel  rails.  We  glided  along  on  our 
very  rapid  course  without  a  jar.  And  another  discov- 
ery we  soon  made  was  that  the  road  was  so  perfectly 
ballasted  with  stone  that  we  had  no  dust.  We  were 
neither  jerked  about  nor  banged  up  and  do\Nai.  This 
splendid  steel  highway  from  Paris  to  Marseilles  is  run 
over  as  smoothly  as  if  one  were  in  a  gondola,  a  dustless 
journey,  on  time. 

And  we  were  little  visited  by  conductors,  ticket-men, 
or  other  inquisitive  persons,  and  not  once  by  boys  who 
desired  to  improve  our  minds  and  destroy  our  stomachs 
by  their  merchandise.  Having  once  put  us  into  a  car 
for  Avignon  and  been  satisfied,  that  we  had  paid,  the 
officials  let  us  alone.  We  might  have  got  out  any- 
where, and  forfeited  our  tickets  and  left  our  baggage. 


4   NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

Not  till  we  reached  Dijon  at  night  did  a  ticket-taker 
open  the  door.  Bat  then  four  simple  words  that  he 
said  —  ^^ Billets  s'il  vous plait "  —  so  deluged  the  apart- 
ment with  garlic  that  we  had  to  open  all  the  windows. 
If  he  had  added  another  solid  word,  T  think  we  should 
have  been  compelled  to  jmnp  out  of  the  car.  Such  a 
mighty  power  is  the  breath  of  a  single  man  in  this 
great  nation. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  the  climate  of  Paris  extends 
far  south.  The  isothermal  line  takes  a  dip  almost 
down  to  the  Mediterranean.  By  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon  we  were  in  a  cold,  dense  fog  again,  as  thick 
as  we  have  on  the  banks  of  Newfoundland,  and  it  was 
not  until  we  were  well  away  fi'om  Lyons  and  the  sun 
had  ceased  to  draw  the  moisture  from  the  ground  that 
we  saw  the  stars.  But  by  nine  o'  clock  we  had  changed 
our  climate  totally,  and  when  we  saw  in  the  moonlight 
the  towers  of  the  ancient  Palace  of  the  Popes  at 
Avignon,  we  knew  that  the  sort  of  winter  to  which  we 
are  accustomed  was  left  behind  us,  and  we  had  not 
to  look  forward  with  apprehension  to  Thanksgiving 
day. 

The  ancient  hotel  received  us  in  its  ancient  court- 
yard, where  the  big  sycamore-tree  grows  and  the 
galleries  run  round,  and  where  there  are  benches  for 
loiterers  to  sit  in  the  sun.  The  next  morning  was 
cloudless,  delicious.  The  soldiers  and  the  children 
were  sunning  themselves  in  the  Place  de  la  Ville,  at 
the  head  of  the  Rue  de  la  R(5}nd)lique,  where  stands 
the  statue  of  Crillon,  friend  of  Henry  of  Navarre,  and 


OUT  OF  THE  FOG  INTO   THE  SUN.  6 

the  pretty  theatre  with  the  figures  of  Racine  and  Cor- 
neille  seated  in  front.  We  were  come  to  a  land  where 
statues  can  sit  out  doors  with  comfort  in  winter.  I 
returned  to  the  hotel  with  my  hands  full  of  the  open 
air  roses  of  Provence,  which  are  blooming  everywhere. 

It  is  only  truth  to  say,  however,  that  the  "  mistral," 
an  odious,  cold,  cutting  northeast  wind,  blows  here  in 
the  winter  and  gives  Avignon  a  bad  name.  It  is  not 
so  very  far  from  the  spurs  of  the  Alps,  and  one  of  the 
fhiest  sights  from  the  Dome  of  Rocks,  above  the  old 
palace,  is  Mt.  Ventoux,  eighteen  miles  away  and  6,421 
feet  high,  a  lovely  purple  mountain,  said  by  Petrarch, 
who  ascended  it,  to  be  covered  with  eternal  snow. 
The  snow  may  be  eternal  or  internal,  but  we  could  not 
see  it. 

Avignon,  crumbling,  old,  crooked  in  its  ways  and 
indecent  in  some  of  its  smells,  is,  after  all,  a  most 
romantic,  delightful  old  town,  interesting  in  its  archi- 
tectures, its  superb  old  palaces,  its  historical  associ- 
ations of  the  Popes  and  the  Two  Lovers,  and  has, 
altogether,  a  most  fascinating  atmosphere  for  the  trav- 
eler. 

But  it  is  afflicted,  as  all  France  is,  with  soldiers, 
barracks  full  of  them,  streets  full  of  them.  They 
sleep  in  the  Palace  of  the  Popes  ;  you  see  one  of  their 
unintelligent  heads  at  every  little  window  of  the  for- 
tress-palace, and  squads  of  conscripts,  the  rawest  of 
raw  recruits,  are  always  in  sight.  And  they  seem  poor 
material  for  soldiers,  short  in  stature,  ill-made,  inferior 
in  every  way,  light  weights  in  head  as  well  as  in  body. 


6        NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

This  is  the  general  character  of  the  conscripts  and 
troops  we  have  seen  everywhere  south  on  our  journey, 
and  it  is  very  poor  stuff  to  oj^pose  to  the  stalwart,  in- 
telligent German  soldiers  —  if  they  are  to  be  opposed 
to  them. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  rOUNTAIN  Or  VAUCLUSE. 

The  lover  lias  almost  as  good  a  chance  of  immortal- 
ity as  tlie  warrior.  A  romantic  attachment  to  a  charm- 
ing woman,  especially  i£  it  is  hopeless  or  ought  to  be 
hopeless,  put  into  literature,  does  very  nearly  as  well 
for  a  man's  reputation  as  if  he  murdered  a  great  many 
of  his  fellows.  Not  quite  ;  for  killing  is  still  the  most 
popular  thing  a  man  can  do  in  this  world.  Witness, 
the  prominent  industry  of  France  at  this  moment  is 
the  training  of  the  most  awkward  of  conscripts  into 
the  most  unsoldierly-like-looking  soldiers,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  killing  Germans  and  other  outside  barbarians. 

The  quaint  old  walled  city  of  Avignon,  however, 
owes  more  to  Petrarch  than  it  does  to  any  or  all  of  the 
Popes  who  once  made  it  the  centre  of  the  shows  and 
pilgrimages  of  the  Christian  world  ;  more  even  than  to 
that  fighting  Pope  Benoit  XIII.,  who  was  n't  a  very 
good  Holy  Father,  as  holy  fathers  go  in  this  world,  al- 
though he  stood  a  siege  in  his  palace-fortress  in  Avig- 
non that  lasted  a  year  longer  than  the  siege  of  Troy. 
All  Avignon  is  saturated  with  the  story  of  Petrarch 
and  Laura,  and  it  is  a  pity  that  the  name  of  the  hand- 
somest  street  in  the  city  and  the  only  straight  one, 


8        NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

wliicli  was  Rue  Petrarqiie^  has,  in  the  access  of  Re- 
publicanism —  for  Avignon  is  fiercely  Republican  — 
been  changed  into  Rue  de  la  Republique. 

I  know  very  well  that  it  is  the  fashion  now  not  to 
believe  very  much  in  Petrarch's  love-affair,  and  to  say 
that  the  sweet  but  cold  Laura  de  Sade,  dying  at  the 
age  of  forty,  a  faithful  wife  and  the  mother  of  eleven 
children,  was  only  a  literary  flame  of  the  sentimental 
Italian.  But  I  like,  while  I  am  here,  to  believe  the 
old  romance  in  all  its  details.  And  if  the  poetically 
amorous  poet  mingled  his  taste  for  letters  and  his  love 
of  renown  with  a  convenient  and  idealized  passion  for 
a  beautiful  woman,  and  made  every  event  of  his  de- 
spairing love  the  theme  of  a  sonnet,  I  like  to  believe 
that  the  name  of  Laura,  which  was  always  on  his  lips 
or  at  the  end  of  his  pen,  was  something  more  than  a 
name. 

It  was,  says  the  simple  narrative,  on  the  Monday  of 
Holy  Week,  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  that  Petrarch 
saw  at  Avignon,  in  the  church  of  the  nuns  of  Sainte 
Claire,  a  young  woman  whose  robe  of  green  was  sown 
with  violets.  Her  beauty  struck  him :  it  was  Laura. 
Daughter  of  Audibert  des  Noves,  chevalier,  she  had 
recently  married  Hugues  de  Sade,  of  an  old  jiatrician 
house  of  Avignon.  Her  features  —  so  Petrarch  de- 
scribes her  —  were  fine  and  regular,  her  eyes  were  brill- 
iant, her  glance  was  tender,  her  physiognomy  sweet, 
her  behavior  modest,  her  gait  noble,  her  voice  vibrant 
with  feeling ;  her  waist  was  slender,  her  eyebrows  were 
black,  her  hair  was  blonde  ;  her  complexion  was  of  daz- 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  VAUCLUSE.  9 

zling  whiteness,  animated  with  the  most  lively  colors ; 
in  short,  she  had  a  charm  more  seducing  than  beauty. 

To  see  this  lovely  person  was  to  love  her.  To  be 
absent  from  her  was  a  torture.  It  vv^as  necessary  to 
Petrarch  to  be  near  her  always.  He  sought  her  every- 
where. She  had  the  air  o£  inviting  him.  If  he  ap- 
proached her,  she  fled ;  but  she  iled  slowly ;  she  fled 
to  be  pursued.  Petrarch  was  timid.  Laura  was  a 
woman  of  sense,  and  yet,  like  all  women,  au  fond, 
a  coquette.  It  was  a  coquetry  which  nature  inspired, 
which  modesty  confessed.  Laura  was  flattered  by  his 
devotion,  not  insensible  to  the  renown  which  his  son- 
nets brought  her;  distinguished  strangers  from  afar 
wished  to  see  the  divinity  who  inspired  the  famous 
poet.  They  could  not  always  recognize  in  her  the  rav- 
ing beauty  whom  Petrarch  saw. 

Did  Laura  love  him?  The  love  of  Petrarch  flat- 
tered her  pride.  But  she  had  the  air  of  ignoring  the 
passion  of  the  young  poet ;  she  treated  him  with  kind- 
ness; but  a  sweet  severity  came. to  the  aid  of  her  vir- 
tue. She  attracted  him  and  repelled  him.  He  seemed 
always  to  pursue  an  enticing  shadow  which  always 
just  evaded  his  gTasp,  and  yet  invited  him  with  a 
sweet  smile  into  some  heavenly  place. 

In  the  despair  of  a  lover  whose  love  was  in  the  air, 
in  disgust  of  a  sycophantic  court  whose  favor  was  only 
got  by  fawning,  in  Imtred  of  a  city  whose  morals  were 
decayed,  and  in  order  to  have  uninterrupted  leisure  for 
the  cultivation  of  the  muse,  Petrarch  sought  a  retreat 
in  the  solitude  of  Vaucluse.     Even  there  the  image  of 


10      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

Laura  pursued  him ;  he  heard  her  voice  in  the  garden 
at  evening,  and  in  the  murmuring  stream  that  ran  be- 
fore his  door  his  thought  swiftly  traveled  to  Avignon, 
where  she  lived.  Pie  wrote  there  many  sonnets  upon 
her.  Upon  her  beautiful  eyes  he  composed  three  poems 
full  of  grace,  delicacy,  esprit.  Drawn  back  to  Avig- 
non by  his  passion  for  her,  or  drawn  from  Vaucluse 
by  missions  political  or  poetic,  Petrarch  returned  to 
it  again  and  again.  But  it  was  never  more  than  a 
retreat  of  convenience,  a  summer  residence. 

What  is  this  Vaucluse,  whose  fountain  is  such  a  per- 
ennial spring  of  poetic  longing  ?  Vaucluse  is  to-day  a 
little  town  of  some  five  or  six  hundred  inhabitants,  in 
the  foot-hills  of  the  French  Alps,  about  eighteen  miles 
east  of  Avignon.  I  went  there  by  the  railway  to  Ca- 
vaillon,  which  was  the  home,  you  may  remember,  of 
Pierre  de  Provence,  whose  romantic  love  for  La  Belle 
Maguelonne  is  the  theme  of  one  of  the  most  charming- 
stories  of  the  twelfth  century.  The  road  was  through 
a  level  gray  limestone  region,  planted  everywhere  with 
the  vine  and  the  olive.  Here  and  there  are  little  hills, 
and  on  one  of  these,  to  the  north,  is  the  Chateau  Neuf 
du  Pape,  whence  comes  a  very  good  red  wine  of  that 
name,  which  even  the  temperance  traveler  in  this  land 
of  the  grape  and  the  madder  may  drink  if  he  gets  an 
absolution  from  the  Pope.  Before  us,  however,  all  the 
way,  rose  one  of  the  loveliest  of  mountains — the  last 
southern  effort  of  the  Alps  to  sustain  tlieir  majesty  — 
a  barren  height,  lifted  up  in  a  purple  light  under  tliis 
blue  sky  of  Provence ;  a  mountain  which  has  a  special 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  VAUCLUSE.  11 

fame  from  tlie  fact  that  Petrarch  once  ascended  it,  and 
describes  it  as  in  perpetual  snow.  Things  are  not  now 
so  perpetual  as  they  were  in  mediaeval  times,  or  this 
season  has  been  unfavorable  for  snow.  We  coidd  see 
none.  It  is  the  Mt.  Ventoux.  It  has  an  air  of  repose 
in  lonely  grandeur,  and  gets  the  full  benefit  of  its  alti- 
tude, for  this  plain  descends  with  only  a  gentle  slope 
to  the  Mediterranean. 

The  day  was  lovely  —  it  was  the  12th  of  November 
—  like  our  choicest  and  most  inspiring  October  days. 
Olive  orchards  gave  a  silver  shimmer  to  the  air,  and 
flowers  bloomed  in  the  open  without  fear  of  frosts. 
At  every  little  station  upon  low  trellises  were  trained 
rose  vines,  and  sweet-scented  red  roses,  the  red  rose 
that  used  to  be  a  shy  confession  of  love  in  June  in 
New  England,  made  brilliant  banks  of  color. 

We  left  the  train  at  L'Isle  du  Sorgue,  a  sleepy, 
gray,  and  dusty,  little  village  on  the  river  Sorgue,  and 
took  an  omnibus  for  Vaucluse,  three  or  four  miles 
distant.  The  stone  houses  are  gray,  the  roads  are 
gray,  the  landscape  is  grizzly.  The  road,  however, 
is  broad,  and  hard,  and  smooth.  As  we  go  on,  by 
vineyards  and  olive  orchards,  with  a  Virgin  and  Child 
at  odd  angles  and  corners  by  the  portals  in  the  waUs, 
the  country  becomes  rougher  and  less  arable.  We 
are  approaching  the  mountains,  or  rather  the  gray 
limestone  cliffs  which  are  their  outposts. 

The  road  descends  to  the  narrow  valley  of  the 
Soro'ue,  and  follows  its  tortuous  course  into  the  very 
bosom  of   the  mountain.     Soon  we   pass  under  the 


12      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

arches  of  a  fine  modern  viaduct,  and  find  ourselves  In 
a  ravine,  with  the  rapid  little  river  and  Iiigh  cliffs  on 
both  sides.  There  is  a  house  with  a  garden  now  and 
then,  but  there  is  no  room  for  many  houses.  We  pur- 
sue this  way  until  we  come  to  a  veritable  cul  de  sac. 
In  this  cul  de  sac  is  Vaucluse.  It  is  a  sorry  little 
town,  rather  Italian  than  French  in  its  appearance, 
with  its  few  houses  on  the  edge  of  the  stream,  and 
perched  on  the  hill-sides.  In  one  place  the  rock  has 
been  tunneled,  and  the  tunnel  leads  to  other  stone 
houses  jammed  under  the  ledges.  There  is  a  little 
square  with  a  high  commemorative  column  (erected  in 
1804),  and  a  big  sycamore-tree.  This  is  where  the 
omnibus  stops,  and  the  horses  are  unhitched,  and 
where  old  women,  not  so  pretty  as  old  women  might 
be,  offer  to  sell  you  dried  grasses  colored,  and  sprigs 
of  lavender,  and  photographs  of  the  fountain  and  the 
town.  There  is,  of  course,  a  cafe  on  this  square,  the 
Petrarque  et  Laure,  and  a  bridge  across  the  stream 
leads  to  a  modern  jaaper-mill. 

Taking  the  right  bank  of  the  river  we  ascend  by  a 
stony  path,  always  attended  by  the  woman  with  the 
lavender  and  the  photographs  and  babies,  until  we 
reach  the  end  of  the  horse-shoe  inclosure.  In  the 
last  few  hundred  yards  the  river  has  disappeared. 
We  mount  by  the  side  of  a  dry  cascade.  The  bed  of 
the  stream  is  strewn  with  big  moss-covered  bowlders, 
and  over  these  the  torrent  pours  when  the  fountain,  in 
the  spring,  is  higli  enough  to  overflow.  Its  outlet  now 
is  under  this  stony  bed.     These  bowlders  in  the  dry 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF   VAUCLUSE.  13 

stream  (for  it  is  here  dry  the  greater  x^art  of  the 
year)  are  thickly  painted  with  the  names  of  distin- 
guished Frenchmen.  I  know  they  are  distinguished 
or  they  would  not  be  here.  Every  square  foot  of  the 
vast  cliffs  about  us,  as  far  as  moderate  ladders  can 
reach,  also  bears  in  white  paint  the  same  noble  names. 
The  Frenchman  always  paints  or  carves  his  name  on 
every  object  that  is  available  whenever  he  ventures 
into  the  savage  and  unknown  world  outside  of  Paris. 
His  appreciation  of  himself  is  of  the  same  sort  as  the 
modesty  of  the  ancient  Pharaohs. 

Mounting  above  this  dry  cascade,  we  were  faced  and 
hemmed  in  by  a  perpendicular  limestone  precipice 
eleven  hundred  feet  in  height.  Before  us  in  the  cliff 
is  a  cavern,  perhaps  a  hundred  feet  long  by  thirty  ^ 
deep.  At  a  descent  into  it  of  thirty  or  forty  feet  from 
the  brink  where  we  stood  was  a  pool  of  water,  perhaps 
thirty  feet  across,  and  probably,  at  this  time,  about 
thirty  feet  deep.  But  it  is  impossible  to  say  how  deep 
it  is,  for  the  water  is  absolutely  pellucid.  I  have 
never  seen  any  mountain  stream  clearer.  And  yet  its 
color  is  a  sort  of  blue  black.  Petrarch  describes  it  as 
"  a  mirror  of  blue-black  water,  so  pure,  so  still,  that 
where  it  laps  the  pebbles  you  can  scarcely  say  where 
air  begins  and  water  ends."  I  found  this  literally 
true,  for  stooping  on  the  shingly  edge  to  dip  the  water 
in  my  hand  I  only  perceived  by  the  touch  where  the 
water  began. 

This  is  the  sole  source  of  the  river  Sorgue,  which 
issuing  from  this  ravine  parts  itself  into  many  canals  j 


14      NOTES   OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

it  refreshes  the  prairies  of  Vaucluse,  it  waters  Lille 
and  the  beautiful  plain  of  Contat,  and  at  last  throws 
itself  into  the  Ehone  near  Avignon.  "  O  Vaucluse  !  " 
exclaims  the  poet  in  his  absence,  "  who  will  transport 
me  to  thy  fresh  banks !  O  fountain  marvelous !  would 
that  I  were  seated  near  thy  source !  " 

Returning  to  the  square,  we  crossed  the  bridge  to 
the   rock-hewn   street    behind  the   mill   and    passed 
through  a  rock  tunnel  in  search  of  the  site  of  Pe- 
trarch's house.     On  the  height  above  us,  perched  upon 
the  ruoo-ed  rocks,  are  the  ruins  of  the  castle  of  Cardi- 
nal  Cabasole.     The  Cardinal  was   Petrarch's  friend, 
the  seignior  of  this  district,  and  part  of  the  time  Pe- 
trarch's companion  here.     At  the  foot  of  the  precipice, 
under  this   castle  in  the  air,  was'  Petrarch's  modest 
house.     This  site  is  tolerably  well  defined.     The  house 
has  long  ago  gone,  but  another,  which  is  said  to  be  ex- 
actly like  his,  stands  in  its  place.     It  is  a  two-story 
stone  house,  jammed  under  the  precipice  of  which  it 
seems  to  be  a  ragged  part,  with  small  windows,  and 
looks  very  much  like  a  poor   stable   and   hen-house. 
In  front  of  it  is  a  little  garden  fenced  in.     This  was  a 
part  of  the  larger  garden  of  Petrarch,  which  extended 
to  the  river.     In  Petrarch's  day  this  may  have  been  a 
charming  retreat.     In  the  stream  he  drew  his  nets  for 
fish.     INIelodious  birds  chanted  in  his  car,  and  farther 
off  he  heard  in  the  meadows  the  lowing  of  herds  and 
the  bleating  of  sheep.     The  birds  sang  on  one  side  ; 
on  the  other,  the  waves  murnnu-ed.     Figs,  grapes,  al- 
monds he  had  —  these  were  his  delicacies.     His  habit 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  VAUCLUSE.  15 

was  that  of  a  shepherd.  At  mid-day  he  was  in  a 
vaulted  grotto  impenetrable  to  the  rays  of  the  sun. 
At  evening'  he  wandered  in  the  meadows,  where  he 
had  a  second  garden. 

It  is  a  little  difficult  to  imagine  all  this  now,  in  the 
midst  of  these  surroundings  so  grim  and  common- 
place. But  the  stream  is  there,  and  the  everlasting 
gray  cliffs  are  there  ;  and  the  ruins  of  his  friend's  cas- 
tle still  look  down  upon  this  marvelous  gorge  in  the 
mountain.  I  plucked  some  pink  roses  of  Provence 
and  a  leaf  of  magnolia  from  this  dusty  and  blooming 
little  garden,  as  romantic  aids  to  imagination  and 
faith. 

In  this  solitude  I  can  believe  that  the  image  of 
Laura  pursued  Petrarch  as  it  had  followed  him  in  the 
forest  of  Ardennes.  He  believed  that  he  saw  her. 
He  saw  her  start  from  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  from  the 
basin  of  the  fountain,  from  the  crevice  of  a  rock,  even 
from  the  edge  of  a  cloud.  "  Three  times,"  says  he, 
"  in  the  midst  of  the  horrors  of  the  night,  all  the 
doors  fast  shut,  I  have  seen  her  appear  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  with  an  air  assumed,  with  a  countenance 
haughty.  It  was  her  very  self."  She  rebuked  her 
slave  ;  she  reclaimed  him.  What  did  Laura  wish  ? 
"  Perhaps,"  says  the  iia'if  chronicler,  "  to  be  the  first 
and  perhaps  the  only  woman  who  was  ever  loved  with 
an  angelic  love." 

On  the  front  of  the  cafe  of  Petrarque  et  Laurc,  in 
the  little  square,  is  an  insci'iption  saying  that  on  the 
site  of  this  building  Petrarch  had  his  study,  and  that 


16      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

on  tliis  very  spot  he  composed  bis  one  lumclred  and 
twentjMiiutli  sonnet,  beginning  (written  bere  in  French 
and  in  Italian)  :  — 

"  O  sweet  country  ! 
O  pure  river  ! 

Wliicli  bathes  the  beautiful  visage 
And  the  dear  eyes  of  my  Laura  ! " 


CHAPTEE  III. 

AVIGNON  TO  NtMES. 

Put  a  man  in  red  trousers  and  blue  jacket  and  make 
his  red  leo:s  move  in  unison  with  a  lot  of  other  red 
legs,  and  the  man  is  perhaps  relieved  a  little  of  his 
original  insignificance.  We  have  been  witnessing  the 
manufacture  of  soldiers,  out  of  poor  material,  all  the 
way  across  France.  We  have  seen  the  forlorn  squads 
of  conscripts  on  their  way  to  the  stations ;  we  have 
seen  the  first  attempts  on  the  drill  ground  to  make 
four  of  them  stand  in  a  right  line ;  we  have  seen  their 
awkward  efforts  to.  make  the  musket  anything  but  a 
murderous  instrument  for  themselves,  and  we  have 
finally  seen  them  march  off  in  columns — this  thousand 
red-legged  machine  of  war  —  with  slanting  bayonets 
and  the  intent  to  kill. 

I  did  not  intend  to  say  anything  more  about  the 
soldiers.  But  as  I  opened  my  window  to  the  south  to 
let  in  the  sweet  morning  air,  I  heard  the  toot-toot  of 
the  everlasting  trumpet-call,  and  while  I  sit  down  to 
begin  this  page  a  red-legged  regiment  is  crossing  the 
esplanade.  I  wish  I  could  say  anything  good  of  them. 
Individually  they  are  insignificant ;  but  their  red  legs 
do  go  very  well  together.  At  any  rate  they  are  the 
2 


18      NOTES  OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

prominent  fact  in  all  these  towns  and  cities.  The 
air  is  full  of  soldiering.  The  trumpet-call  is  the  first 
thing  one  hears  in  the  morning  and  the  last  in  the 
evening,  and  all  day  the  tan-ta-ra  tan-ta-ra  is  liable  to 
break  out  and  a  squad  of  uniforms  appear  round  the 
corner.  In  the  streets  everywhere  are  soldiers  and 
officers,  the  most  familiar  figures  ;  but  nothing  seems 
able  to  give  any  of  them  the  soldierly  bearing  that  the 
Germans  have. 

I  don't  know,  however,  that  it  is  any  of  my  business, 
if  the  republic  chooses  to  use  up  its  energies  in  this 
way.  But  I  wish  they  would  put  some  good -sized 
men  into  the  army,,  just  for  appearances.  There  are 
Frenchmen  of  fair  proportions ;  you  see  occasionally 
a  large  man  on  the  street,  and  they  make  a  brave  show 
—  especially  the  commercial  travelers  —  at  the  tables 
cVhote.  A  row  of  Frenchmen  at  the  table  of  a  first- 
class  hotel  is  likely  to  be  a  row  of  exceedingly  good 
heads  and  highly  intelligent  faces,  and  men  of  more 
than  ordinary  size.  To  be  sure,  their  table  manners 
are  apt  to  be  barbarous,  but  then  one  would  not  go  to 
a  hotel  in  America  to  learn  manners.  It  seems  to  me 
on  the  whole,  taking  the  conscrij^ts  and  the  crowds  in 
the  streets,  that  the  French  in  the  south  are  under- 
sized. Perhaps  it  is  a  significant  and  decisive  fact 
that  the  bedsteads  at  the  hotels  are  all  a  trifle  short  for 
a  man  of  good  honest  proportions  to  stretch  himself  at 
ease.  We  have  plenty  of  men  in  Hartford  to  whom 
these  bedsteads  would  be  the  mere  mockery  of  repose. 

They  have  in  this  region  a  new  use  for  men.     They 


AVIGNON  TO  NIMES.  19 

make  "  chambermaids  "  of  tliem.  Nearly  all  our  cham- 
bermaids since  we  left  Paris  liave  been  of  the  awkward 
sex.  It  seems  to  outrage  the  nature  of  things  to  see 
one  of  these  unhandy  creatures  making  up  a  bed,  and 
trjang  to  give  that  touch  to  it  which  is  instinctive  in  a 
woman.  The  fact  that  men  are  employed  to  do  this 
domestic  service  in  hotels  speaks  volmnes.  But  what 
is  in  the  volumes  I  don't  know. 

From  Avignon  to  Nimes  is  a  very  pleasant  ride  of 
some  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles  by  rail  of  a  sunny 
morning.  The  view  is  very  extended,  though  the  land 
is  not  flat ;  there  are  charming  slopes  and  great  sweeps 
of  well-tilled  land.  The  prominent  feature  —  every- 
where in  this  region,  indeed  —  is  the  vast  olive  or- 
chards. Together  with  the  grape  vines  they  cover  the 
land. 

In  coming  only  this  short  distance  we  have  changed, 
however,  the  milieu.  There  are  not  so  many  roses 
and  other  flowers  in  the  open  air  as  at  Avignon.  That 
old  town,  although  it  has,  as  I  said,  a  bad  name  for 
the  mistral,  is  nevertheless  very  good  to  the  flowers  all 
the  year  round,  and  is  a  bower  of  roses.  In  the  gar- 
den above  the  Palace  of  the  Popes  they  were  setting 
out  new  beds  of  mignonette,  as  if  they  expected  it  to 
bloom  through  the  winter.  The  cemetery  was  odorous 
with  sweet  flowers.  About  the  sarcophagus  where  lie, 
in  a  nook  sheltered  by  hedges  of  pines,  John  Stuart 
Mill  and  his  well-beloved  wife,  are  banlis  of  roses,  red 
and  pink  and  yellow,  rejoicing  in  the  sun  and  robbing 
the  grave  of  half  its  lonesomeness. 


20      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

"VVe  left  beliind,  too,  at  Avignon,  the  strawberries. 
Strawberries,  tliey  say,  tbey  have  there  every  month 
in  the  year.  To  be  sure  they  are  the  small,  seedy, 
Swiss  variety,  of  which  it  takes  a  great  many  to  make 
a  mouthful.  But  a  strawberry  is  a  strawberry  in  lit- 
erature as  well  as  on  the  table,  and  to  come  in  of  a 
winter  morning  from  a  walk  in  the  abounding  sun 
with  a  hand  full  of  roses,  and  see  on  the  breakfast- 
table  even  the  humblest  strawberry,  is  more  pleasing 
than  a  stalled  ox  and  snow  in  New  England. 

This  Nimes  is  a  large  city  —  63,000  inhabitants  the 
guide-book  says  —  and  it  has  the  reputation  of  being 
one  of  the  most  cheerful  and  pleasant  cities  in  southern 
France.  It  is  open  and  sunny,  and  wide-spaced,  but 
somehow,  after  one  has  seen  the  Roman  ruins  and  the 
public  garden,  where  there  are  also  lovely  Eoman 
remains,  there  is  not  much  to  interest  the  traveler. 
It  is  too  modern  and  lacks  altogether  the  picturesque- 
ness  of  Avignon,  with  its  crooked,  ill-savored  streets 
and  its  decayed  grandeur. 

The  Hotel  Luxembourg,  where  we  stay,  has  a  lovely 
sunny  front  south  and  west  on  the  esplanade,  a  great 
esplanade  of  gravel  in  the  middle  of  which  is  a  lovely 
fountain  with  statues  by  Pradier,  and  about  which  are 
the  public  buildings  and  the  vast  and  imposing  Roman 
Amphitheatre.  It  is  a  good  place  also  from  our  bal- 
cony to  see  the  sun  set  and  to  hear  day  and  night  the 
toot-toot  of  the  trumpeting  soldiers,  and  the  tooting 
horns  of  the  omnibus  and  street-car  conductors.  If 
there  is  any  one  thing  the  French  like  more  than  an- 
other it  is  noise. 


AVIGNON   TO  NIMES.  21 

This  old  hotel  lias  a  sort  of  imposing  appearance 
interiorly,  with  its  large  court  and  open  staircase  and 
galleries.  It  is  a  curious  place,  however.  We  were 
met  on  entering  by  two  old  women,  in  mob  caps,' 
black  fronts,  and  short  black  dresses,  who  regarded  us 
with  the  curiosity  of  magpies  —  nice,  friendly  old  mag- 
pies —  tottering  about  and  solicitous  to  know  our  wants 
and  to  turn  the  last  penny  on  them.  It  seems  to  be. 
quite  in  the  way  here  for  old  ladies  to  keep  hotels. 
The  Europa  at  Avignon  was  kept  for  sixty  years 
by  two  lively,  comfortable  old  ladies  —  they  were  not 
always  so  old — who  Lad  just  departed  this  life  the 
year  we  were  at  Avignon  before  (in  1875).  In  the 
little  waiting  room  hangs  a  portrait  of  their  gracious 
old  mother,  v/ho,  I  suppose,  kept  the  same  house  ages 
before.  They  have  certainly  transmitted  their  sweet 
and  hospitable  spirit  to  their  successors,  the  present 
agreeable  landlord  and  his  lovely  wife,  who  make  the 
old  house  seem  like  home  to  the  wayfarer. 

The  fussy  old  magpies  at  Nimes  transferred  us  to  a 
queer  old  waiter,  older  even  than  themselves,  who  hob- 
bled up-stairs  before  us.  There  was  an  assuring  air 
of  decrepitude  about  the  w^iole  menage.  The  honne 
who  sat  in  the  bureau  was  lame,  and  all  the  servitors 
were  more  or  less  venerable.  Indeed,  we  got  the  no- 
tion as  soon  as  we  went  into  the  streets  that  inferior 
and  crippled  and  ugly  people  were  very  common  in 
Nimes,  and  the  whole  population  —  as  we  saw  it — - 
seemed  to  have  suffered  somehow  a  blight.  This  may 
be  very  unjust,  but  with  all  its  Koman  grandeur  and 


22  NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

sj)acious  lay-out,  Nimes  seems  to  be  ill-favored  in  re- 
spect tt)  pop  Illation.  Pretty  women,  or  passable  look- 
ing women,  are  even  scarcer  than  at  Avignon,  and  the 
men  are  inferior. 

You  do  not  expect  me  to  instruct  you  on  the  Roman 
remains  of  Nimes,  indeed  you  do  not  wish  information 
about  them.  You  already  know  that  twelve  miles 
from  here  the  Pont  du  Gard,  the  ancient  aqueduct 
over  the  river  Gard,  is  one  of  the  most  imposing  Eo- 
man  remains  in  existence,  much  more  striliing  than 
anything  about  Kome  itself.  You  know  that  the  vast 
amphitheatre  here,  where  17,000  spectators  coidd  see, 
under  awnings  and  at  ease,  gladiators  pound  each  other 
and  wild  beasts  eat  persons  professing  the  Christian 
faith,  is  the  most  perfect  large  amphitheatre  left  to  us 
from  Roman  times.  I  saw  the  other  day  the  Roman 
theatre  at  Orange.  It  is  unique.  The  semi -circle 
seats  for  the  spectators  are  hewn  out  of  the  rocky  hill, 
like  the  theatre  of  Dionysius  at  Athens,  r-nd  it  is  sep- 
arated from  the  town  by  a  wall  thirteen  feet  thick,  a 
hundred  and  twenty-one  feet  high  and  three  hundred 
and  thirty-four  feet  long.  This  high  wall  made  the 
background  for  the  stage;  and  built  on  it  next  the 
stage  were  the  spacious  green-rooms  for  the  actors. 
This  amphitheatre  at  Nimes  was  not  for  plays  at  all, 
but  for  spectacles,  combats,  and  the  circus  performances 
of  the  arena.  The  amphitheatre  is  elliptical  in  form, 
four  hundred  and  thirty-seven  feet  in  the  greater  axis 
and  three  hundred  and  thirty-three  in  the  less.  It  is 
altogether  one  of  the  noblest  ruins  in  the  world,  and 


AVIGNON  TO  NIMES.  23 

is  in  such  repair  that  it  is  still  used  for  circus  sports, 
and,  I  believe,  for  mild  combats  of  the  bull. 

Another  channing  specimen  of  the  grace  and  archi- 
tectural refinement  of  the  Augustan  age  is  the  Maison 
Carree,  a  beautiful  little  Corinthian  temple,  still  in 
good  preservation,  and  used  as  a  museum  of  local  curi- 
osities. 

Perhaps  the  most  pleasing  feature  of  the  city  is  the 
public  garden,  an  artificial  pleasure-place,  very  attract- 
ive. It  is  in  front  of  a  high  rocky  hill,  on  top  of 
which  is  a  noble  Roman  ruin  called  Tourmao-ne. 
From  the  summit  of  this  tower  there  is  a  most  exten- 
sive prospect  of  the  city  and  variegated  country.  Be- 
low this  is  a  pine  forest  with  lovely  walks.  The  side 
of  the  hill  is  terraced  and  adorned  with  circular  bal- 
ustrades in  marble.  At  the  foot  is  a  basin  of  water, 
a  living  fountain,  limpid  and  larger  than  the  famous 
fountain  of  Vauclase.  It  supplies  the  water  for  the 
canals  and  baths  of  the  garden.  This  garden  is  a  skil- 
ful adaptation  of  the  old  to  the  new.  Adjoining  it  is 
the  ruin  of  the  Temple  of  Diana,  built  in  the  year  b.  c. 
24,  and  in  the  garden  are  the  Roman  baths,  about 
twelve  feet  below  the  level  of  the  promenade,  the 
vaulting  being  supported  on  slender  columns  over 
which  rise  open  stone  balustrades.  The  garden  is 
adorned  with  vases  and  statues,  gay  with  flower-beds, 
enlivened  with  the  sparkling  waters  from  the  spring 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  shaded  with  elms  and  palm- 
trees,  protected  from  the  wind,  and  loved  of  the  sun. 
Altogether  it  is  a  pleasant  place  for  a  northerJier  to 


24      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

saunter  in  a  November  day,  and  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  children  and  babies  and  the  old  women 
who  knit  in  the  sun. 

Nimes  is  full  of  idlers,  idle  young  men  and  idle  old 
men.  I  have  never  seen  a  city  where  loafing  is  so 
much  an  occupation.  It  is  a  contrast  to  industrious 
Avignon.  Perhaps  this  is  the  loafing  time  of  the 
year. 

Before  you  leave  Nimes,  if  you  ever  do  leave  it,  you 
ought  to  make  yourself  acquainted  with  the  works  of 
M.  Boucoiran.  When  this  genius  describes  the  cities 
of  Provence  and  Languedoc  in  his  native  language, 
it  is  not  difficult  to  comprehend  him.  But  in  an  evil 
hour  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  capable  of  instruct- 
ing the  English  travelers  through  this  region  in  their 
own  tongue.  He  has  had  a  great  success,  and  pro- 
duced a  book  more  amusing  than  he  has  any  idea  it  is. 

We  cannot  always  understand  M.  Boucoiran's  de- 
scriptions, but  his  reflections  are  always  valuable,  as 
when,  standing  on  the  top  of  the  wall  of  the  amphi- 
theatre, he  views  the  city  on  one  side,  while  "  from 
the  other  side  your  sight  plunges  into  an  immense  and 
destroyed  crater,  the  picturesque  accounts  of  which 
induce  the  mind  to  reflect  upon  the  most  lasting  works 
of  men.  We  are  inquiring,  before  so  much  devasta- 
tion and  solitude,  if  the  monuments  are  not  formed  as 
the  sports  of  going  over  civilizations,  which  conserved 
or  mutilated  them  according  to  their  necessities,  or  the 
employments  to  which  they  may  be  ajipropriated." 
Which  seems  altogether  probable. 


AVIGNON  TO  NIMES.  25 

But  tlie  author  is  at  his  best  in  dwelling  upon  his 
sensations  in  search  of  such  a  marvel  of  architecture 
as  the  Pont  du  Gard :  —  "If  you  may  have  the  least 
artistic  mind,  you  will  scarcely  resist  certain  sensation 
of  ciu'iosity  in  seeing  for  the  first  time  this  aqueduct 
bridge.  .  .  .  The  most  you  approach  and  the  most  it 
increases  and  astonishes,  as  all  those  conjunctive  shafts 
that  the  man  exercised  to  leap  over  the  rivers  and  the 
valleys ;  it  seems  therefore  that  the  solitude  may  be 
more  hard,  so  as  to  Roque-favour.'''' 

This  is  true.  And  the  author  justly  adds  :  "  There 
are  many  people  who  at  the  sight  of  a  handsome  site 
give  way  to  their  impressions,  and  take  a  pecidiar 
pleasure  to  the  infinite  sensations  that  inspire  a  bright 
sunrise  after  a  storm-day,  in  the  midst  of  the  young 
nature  —  and  near  the  dampish  rocks.  The  early 
beams  that  play  through  that  lofty  wall  as  an  open 
work,  prepare  the  mind  to  sweet  sensations,  and  the 
houi-s  go  rapidly  over  in  that  solitary  spot  that  you 
will  see  again  with  a  new  delight." 

The  city  of  Aries  is  famous,  you  know,  not  more 
for  its  many  and  splendid  Roman  remains  than  for  its 
beaiitiful  women.  I  heard  an  Englishman  at  Avignon 
raving  about  them.  They  also  are  survivals  of  the 
Roman  times,  preserving  in  their  regular  and  hand- 
some features,  their  noble  bearing,  their  alluring  man- 
ners, the  traits  of  the  girls  of  old  Rome.  This  is  a 
topic  that  evokes  the  full  powers  of  M.  Boucoiran :  — 

"The  modern  city  of  Aries  saved  the  prestige  of  its 
olden  times.     What  seduces  the  more  the  foreigner, 


26      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

what  cliarms  him,  is  surely  the  sight  of  handsome 
women.  The  successive  dominations  crossing  the 
country,  each  brought  there  its  tribute  for  the  per- 
formance of  such  beauties.  They  like  flowers,  fondle 
various  perfumes,  and  are  not  indifferent  to  all  sorts 
of  poetry.  The  noise  or  motion  transport  them  in 
joy  ;  they  take  great  pleasure  in  walking,  desire  the 
dances,  the  concerts,  the  holidays.  Every  spectacle 
attracts  them,  less  for  itself  than  for  the  incidents 
whereof  they  raise  up. 

"  The  women  of  Aries  are  in  some  way  the  Atheni- 
ans of  the  Provenza  ;  they  are  specially  cited  for  the 
superiority  of  their  manner  of  speaking  and  dressing, 
so  that  the  attire  is  the  most  important  work  of  their 
youthfulness.  Preserved  amidst  the  Arlesian  girls  of 
the  middle  classes,  in  spite  of  the  universal  invasion  of 
Paris  fashions,  their  dress  contributes  very  much  to 
their  attractions  and  they  exhibit,  in  its  improving, 
the  most  exquisite  art,  and  the  most  dexterous  inqui- 
ries. 

These  women,  we  are  assured,  have  the  forms  and 
the  features  of  the  antique  statues.  Perhaps  they 
have  a  dash  of  Moorish  blood  also,  for  some  Andalu- 
sian  customs  obtain  in  this  region.  One  of  these  is 
the  yearly  gathering  of  the  bulls  in  a  great  plain,  for 
the  purpose  of  marking  the  half-wild  animals  with  the 
names  of  the  o^vners.  The  custom  is  described  by  a 
writer  in  the  sixteenth  century.  Our  author  dilates 
upon  it :  — 

"  An  amusing  pleasure,  which  has  so  many  attrac- 


AVIGNON   TO  NIMES.  27 

tlons  for  the  Arlesians  as  for  the  Audalous,  is  the  bull 
runnings.  It  is  not,  we  must  say  that,  the  sole  rela- 
tion that  may  be  found  between  those  two  types,  sepa- 
rated nevertheless  by  great  distances.  But  it  is  then 
proved  that  the  handsomest  childs  of  the  Prophet 
found  sometimes  sympathetical  affinities,  yet  evident 
at  Aries  as  on  other  places  of  Spain. 

"  You  may  observe  on  the  sj)irit,  either  on  the  skin 
as  in  the  veins  of  the  Arlesian  girls,  of  that  same  blood 
which  reveals  itself  among  the  Malaguenes,  by  the 
brilliancy,  as  alike  ingenuity  of  conversing,  or  by  that 
adorable  forsaking  which  makes  of  them  any  danger- 
ous spoiled  children  whereof  you  will  love  till  the  im- 
perfections. 

"  That  similitude  of  kindness,  that  irresistible  pro- 
pensity for  the  dressing  art,  have  not  been  drawn  up 
at  the  same  spring?  Those  are  not  primitive  sins 
reckoning  from  a  little  far  ! 

"  The  marking  of  young  bulls,  which  is  called  Fer- 
rade^  keeps  yere  so  numerous  adepts  as  at  the  foot  of 
the  Alpujarras  mountains,  among  the  girls  than  among 
the  young  men." 

After  this,  if  we  do  not  go  to  Aries,  it  will  be  be- 
cause we  are  entirely  wanting  in  the  classical  spirit 
and  the  love  of  beauty. 

I  have  neglected  to  speak  of  an  institution  at  Ninies 
more  entertaining  and  lively  than  its  Roman  remains. 
It  is  the  public  blcmchisserie,  or  wash-house.  The 
great  spring  or  fountain  which  waters  the  public  gar- 
den flows  away  in  walled  canals.     It  also  supplies  the 


28      NOTES  OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

washing  j)lace.  Sunken  in  one  of  the  wide  streets, 
several  feet  below  the  surface,  and  surrounded  by  a 
high  wall  in  the  form  of  a  parallelogram,  perhaps  two 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  long  and  fifty  feet  broad,  is  the 
washing  place.  Through  this  slowly  flows  the  stream, 
let  in  and  out  by  small  gates.  In  the  middle  is  a 
stone  platform,  and  on  each  side  of  this  is  a  canal  of 
water,  about  eighteen  inches  deep.  All  along  the 
edges  is  also  a  stone  platform. 

As  I  aj)proached  this  sunken  place  I  heard  a  tre- 
mendous spatting  and  pounding,  and  chattering  and 
laughing.  Looking  down  into  the  long  pit  over  the 
wall,  I  saw  four  rows  of  women-  and  girls,  old  and 
ugly,  and  roguish  and  indifferent,  all  ages  and  degrees 
of  feminity,  some  two  hundred  and  fifty  women  in  all, 
standing  in  the  canals  and  beating  clothes  with  little 
mallets  on  the  stone  benches.  Each  woman  stood  in 
the  canal,  but  each  one  stood  in  her  own  wash-tub, 
with  her  skirts  tucked  up,  so  that  her  feet  were  kept 
as  dry  as  if  she  had  been  on  land.  I  have  been  ac- 
customed to  see  the  clothes  put  into  the  wash-tub  and 
the  women  standing  outside,  but  here  the  women  stood 
in  the  tubs,  and  from  time  to  time  dipped  the  clothes 
into  the  canal,  wliich  was  a  mass  of  soap-suds,  and 
then  dragged  them  out  for  another  pounding  on  the 
stones.  Splash,  splash,  thump,  thump,  chatter,  chat- 
ter, chaff,  laughter,  tliumi3,  whack  —  blackbirds  could 
not  talk  faster,  mermaids  could  not  splash  more.  Each 
woman  in  her  own  tub,  each  tub  standing  on  its  own 
bottom  —  voild  !  independence,  and  convenience.  All 
in  the  open  air,  and  the  sight  of  the  world. 


CHAPTER  IV, 


MONTPELLIER. 


You  need  n't  desire  a  pleasanter  autumn  ride  of  an 
hour  than  that  from  Nimes  to  Montpellier,  In  the 
spring  this  region  must  be  a  sort  of  paradise.  The 
slope  is  towards  the  south,  towards  the  Mediterranean, 
which  we  all  the  time  approach.  On  the  north  pro- 
longs itself  the  purple  range  of  the  Cevennes.  The 
olive  orchards  spread  themselves  out  to  the  sun.  Their 
silver  sheen  is  already  toned  by  the  fruit,  which  is 
ripening  to  a  dead  black. 

Long  before  we  reach  the  city  our  sight  is  fascinated 
by  two  mountain  cliffs,  rising  up  from  the  plain  like  a 
gateway,  with  perpendicular  faces  of  gray  limestone, 
shapely,  handsome  peaks  —  the  last  of  the  Cevennes. 
Rarely  do  you  see,  even  in  a  mountain  region,  such 
striking  and  beautiful  hills.  They  lie  exactly  north  of 
Montpellier,  and  give  dignity  and  romantic  beauty  to 
all  the  landscape. 

Although  Montpellier  is  only  five  miles  from  the 
Mediterranean,  it  occupies  high  ground  —  300  to  400 
feet  above  the  sea  —  and  is,  in  fact,  perched  on  the 
very  irregular  foot-hills  of  the  mountain  range.  Its 
position  is  thus  picturesque,  and  the  views  from  its 


30      NOTES  OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

liigliest  places  are  charming.  The  city  itself  is  old,  but 
it  has  the  advantage  of  being  full  of  active,  modern 
life  and  trade — one  of  the  busiest  and  most  lively  of 
all  the  old  towns  in  the  south  of  France.  It  has  about 
the  same  poj)ulation  as  Hartford  —  something  under 
60,000.  It  does  not,  however,  enjoy  such  a  climate  as 
that  of  Hartford. 

Considering  that  it  is  a  very  gay  and  cheerful  city, 
with  many  handsome  modern  buildings  and  open  simny 
streets,  it  is  exceedingly  interesting,  for  it  preserves 
for  the  most  part  its  ancient  character  of  tortuous, 
narrow  streets,  which  wind  about  most  unexpectedly 
up  and  down  the  hills,  and  you  are  constantly  enter- 
tained withun  expected  architectural  effects. 

In  fact,  as  my  friend  Boucoiran  says,  "  almost  the 
whole  town  partakes  of  that  boldness  of  irregular  di- 
rections, that  they  are  desirous  to  redress  the  utmost 
in  our  utilitary  ages."  And  he  adds,  with  as  much 
poetry  as  perspicuit^r,  "  the  name  of  Montpellier  re- 
minds always  in  the  foreign  countries  the  remem- 
brance of  Hyeres  or  Nice,  and  smiling  thoughts  as  the 
emblem  of  the  spring.  The  renown  of  the  medical 
school,  as  well  as  the  clearness  of  meridianal  sky,  at- 
tracts every  year  numerous  foreigners,  because  for  the 
northern  nations,  Montpellier  is  a  sort  of  hot-house, 
suitable  for  the  weak  constitutions ;  it  is  besides  the 
fortunate  land  of  the  troubadours  to  sweet  language." 
There  is  no  doubt  about  the  genial  climate.  The  first 
four  days  of  our  stay  here  the  weather  was  perfection, 
a  clear  sky  with  an  invigorating  but  still  soft  breeze 


MONTPELLIER.  31 

from  the  Cevennes.  And  now  for  tliree  or  four  days 
it  lias  been  cloudy,  with  occasional  bursts  of  sunshine, 
and  now  and  then  a  warm  shower  —  the  thermometer 
standing  somewhere  from  58°  to  65°  Fahrenheit.  In 
the  sim  it  is  always  pleasant,  and  people  here  make  a 
business  of  sittins:  in  the  sun.  The  windows  of  our 
apartment  in  the  Hotel  Nevet  look  south  over  a  little 
garden,  and  although  all  vegetation  is  in  its  decay, 
the  grass  is  yet  green  and  the  magnolia  trees  rejoice 
in  full  leaf  and  vivid  color. 

Near  the  hotel  is  the  esplanade,  a  vast  tree-j)lanted 
promenade,  and  parade-ground  for  the  soldiers,  who 
are  quartered  in  the  citadel  beyond  the  sunken  rail- 
way. The  trumpet  is  always  tooting,  and  the  red  legs 
are  always  trotting  around  there.  The  conscripts  are 
getting  so  that  they  can  trot  together  very  well.  I 
see  that  drafts  of  them  are  being  trotted  off  to  Tunis 
every  few  days,  after  only  a  drill  of  three  months, 
which  is  hardly  enough  to  get  the  slouch  out  of  their 
bumpkin  gait. 

This  esplanade  has  been  occupied  now  some  time  by 
a  temporary  fair,  the  cheap  booths  of  which  in  long 
streets  always  attract  a  crowd.  There  is  another 
street  of  cheap  side-shows,  peep-galleries,  shooting  gal- 
leries, fortune-tellers,  games  and  little  lotteries  and  go- 
rounds,  paste-board  theatres,  a  traveling  menagerie, 
and  a  circus.  In  front  of  the  booths  men  in  fancy 
costumes  and  women  in  fancy  paiut  stand  and  beat 
drums  or  turn  hurdy-gurdies,  and  call  the  passers-by 
to  enter  their  show.     It  is  a  cheap  Vanity  Fair,  and 


82      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

at  night  when  the  lamps  are  lighted  and  everything 
is  in  full   blast,  rather  an   entertaining  one.     There 
are  traders  and  sorcerers  here  from  Algiers,  swarthy 
women  and  men  in  fezes.     The  ground  is  a  study  of 
petty  games  and  feats  of  legerdemain.     I  made  friends 
with  a  lively  and  lying  little  Oriental  from  Algiers, 
who  sold  me  inedible  nugat  from  Zanzibar,  and  a 
queer  confection  from  Algiers,  which  I  believed  from 
his  toothsome  and  lively  recommendation  of  it  was  a 
sort  of  ambrosia.     America  ?     Oh,  yes,  he  had  been 
in  that  America  in  the  Philadelphia  in  1876  —  and  he 
liked  it  not  at  all,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  recol- 
lection of  the  mauvcds  temps  in  that  country  there. 

Montpellier  has  many  attractions.     Being  of  a  liter- 
ary turn,  you  would  prob:.,bly  come  here  because  Pe- 
trarch in  his  youth  sojourned  here  for  some  time,  pre- 
tending to  read  law,  but  cultivating  the  muse  instead, 
in  the  law  school  which  was  already  in  his  day  very 
famous.     Not   more   so,   however,   than   the  medical 
school,  which  owed  its  existence  to  the  learning   of 
Arab  scholars.     Their  knowledge  of  medicine  was  one 
of  the  many  benefits  that  the  Saracens  brought  into 
benighted  Europe.     Not  only  was  the  school  of  medi- 
cine famous  here,  but  here  was  the  first  Botanical  Gar- 
den instituted  in  France.     It  is  still  one  of  the  most 
interestinc:,  and  I  do  not  know  where  the  botanist  and 
the  arborlist  could  go  to  be  better  pleased.     There 
are  nine  acres  in  the  grounds.     I  recognize  in  the  ar- 
boretum a  great  many  trees  indigenous  in  America. 
The  grounds  are  divided  into  charming  walks  by  allees 


MONTPELLIER.  83 

of  trees,  by  hedges,  by  paths  festooned  with  ivy.  In 
the  Botanical  Garden  are  the  busts  of  the  botanical 
professors,  whose  names  are  famous  all  over  Europe, 
from  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century  down. 

Montpellier  has  always  been  the  home  of  cidture  and 
of  schools.  It  sustains  its  reputation  to-day  by  a  nimi- 
ber  of  excellent  schools  for  girls  and  for  boj'^s,  and  by 
a  conservatoire  of  music  and  a  gallery  of  the  fine  arts. 
The  Museum,  with  its  picture  gallery  —  largely  the 
gift  of  one  man,  ISI.  Fabre  —  passes  above  provincial 
pretensions.  It  is  indeed  a  charming  gallery,  with 
works  of  old  and  new  masters,  the  lovely  heads  of 
Greuze  and  busts  of  Cauova  being  prominent. 

But  the  glory  of  Montpellier,  after  all,  is  the  Prom- 
enade Peyrou.    This  is  on  a  great  eminence  at  the  west 
side  of  the  town.     It  is  an  elevated  esplanade,  planted 
with  trees  —  many  of  them  large  —  and  flov/ers,  and 
adorned  with  statues.     I  do  not  know  such  another 
airy,  light,  and  cheerful  place.     The  view  from  it  is 
one  of  the  finest  in  Europe.     Beneath  you  is  the  sunny, 
irregular  city,  with  its  outlying  villas  and  villages,  its 
orchards  of  olives  and  groves  of  pines.     To  the  north 
are  the  lovely  cliffs  of  the  Cevennes,  already  spoken  of. 
On  the  south  lie  the  blue  waters  of  the  Mediterranean, 
not  more,  in  a  right  line,  than  five  miles  distant.     On 
a  clear  day,  at  sunrise  or  sunset,  yovi  can  see  in  the 
west  the  Canigou,  the  last  outpost  of  the  Pyrenees,  and 
in  the  east  Mt.  Ventoux,  the  fii'st  sentinel  of  the  Alps. 
With  the  Cevennes,  the  Alps,  the  Pyrenees,  and  the 
Mediterranean  in  sight,  one  ought  to  be  satisfied. 


84      NOTES    OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY, 

But  tlie  cliarm  of  this  promenade  seems  to  be  quite 
as  much  in  itself  as  in  its  commanding  pi-ospect.  It  is 
so  lifted  up  and  cheerful,  and  elegant  in  itself  and  in 
its  surroundings.  This  great  rectangular  terrace,  built 
up  on  rocky  foundations,  is  inclosed  by  low  walls  and 
balustrades,  and  here  and  there  steps  descend  to  other 
tree-planted  terraces  and  allees  below.  In  the  centre 
of  the  terrace  is  an  equestrian  statue,  in  bronze,  of 
Louis  XIV.  The  original  one  was  sent  down  here 
from  Paris  a  year  or  two  after  the  death  of  this  great 
conqueror  of  heresy,  as  a  sort  of  witness  that  he  had 
upheld  the  true  faith  in  his  province  of  Languedoc. 
Religious  feeling  still  ran  high,  and  the  statue  was  first 
set  up  out  of  the  city  on  ground  used  for  winnowing 
corn.  In  1792  it  was  destroyed.  The  present  one  is 
by  Deboy  and  was  erected  in  1838.  Opposite  the  en- 
trance of  the  Promenade  Peyrou  is  a  magnificent  tri- 
umphal arch  which  was  raised  in  honor  of  the  victories 
of  Louis  XIV.,  in  his  life-time.  Near  it  is  the  Palace 
de  Justice,  a  fine  building  with  two  wings,  tln•o^^^l  in 
advance,  and  a  beautiful  Corinthian  portico  with  fig- 
ures sculptured  in  high  relief  in  the  pediment.  This 
and  other  edifices  are  in  keeping  with  the  noble  situa- 
tion. 

In  one  of  the  little  divisions  of  the  promenade,  amid 
flowers  and  half  hidden  by  trees,  is  one  of  the  most 
charming  groups  of  modern  statuary  I  have  seen.  I 
could  not  learn  the  name  of  its  creator.  A  noble  male 
figure,  seated,  is  holding  upon  one  knee  the  figure  of 
a  woman.     He  supports  her  with  his  right  arm.     Her 


MONTPELLIER.  35 

left  arm  is  clinging  about  liis  neck,  and  her  face  is 
upturned  to  his,  which  regards  her  with  all  tenderness 
and  pity.  His  left  hand  clasps  her  right  hand.  At 
their  feet  and  crouching  beneath  them  are  two  lovely 
children,  one  apparently  nodding  in  weariness,  and 
the  other  leaning  upon  his  comrade's  shoulder  as  if 
weeping.  It  is  the  little  Cain  and  Abel!  On  the 
base  of  the  statue  are  the  words :  — 

PARADIS  PERDU. 

The  figures  are  exquisitely  modeled ;  it  seems  Im- 
possible for  marble  to  appear  so  yielding  and  flexible, 
and  to  express  more  tenderness,  grace,  and  sentiment. 

On  this  promenade  also  is  a  fountain  with  a  basin 
of  pellucid  water,  in  which  a  couple  of  white  swans  are 
enjoying  the  sun  and  the  pure  air  which  comes  gently 
dowTi  from  the  Ce'vennes.  In  the  terraces  below  are 
other  fountains  and  basins,  with  swans,  white  and 
black. 

Above  this  basin  and  at  the  west  end  of  the  plateau 
is  a  beautiful  hexagonal  Corinthian  building.  It  is 
the  Chateau  d'Eau.  Into  it  pours  the  water  from 
the  aqueduct,  which,  on  high  double  rows  of  arches, 
stretches  across  the  country  and  is  an  exceedingly  pic- 
turesque addition  to  the  landscape. 

You  comprehend  now  that  this  lovely  terrace,  tree- 
planted  and  flower-adorned  and  statue-set  is  a  reservoir. 
You  never  would  suspect  it.  The  water  comes  in  a 
long  covered  way,  partly  on  arches,  from  springs  in  the 
Ce'vennes,  eight  or  ten  miles  distant.    It  is  excellent, 


36      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

and  clear  as  crystal.  It  keeps  sweet  in  its  covered  way 
and  in  this  reservoir,  wliich  is  also,  as  I  said,  completely 
covered,  but  has  openings  in  tlie  side  to  admit  the  air. 
When  shall  we  in  America  attain  such  civilization  as 
to  utilize  for  beauty  a  reservoir  as  this  is  utilized  ? 

On  Svmday  we  heard  mass  in  the  little  Church  of 
St.  Denis,  where  the  music  was  very  good  indeed. 
The  people  of  Montpellier  pride  themselves  upon 
their  music,  though  I  doubt  if  they  have  as  much 
critical  knowledge  of  it  as  the  people  of  Avignon.  It 
was  a  simple  little  church,  full  of  devout  worshipers. 
Rich  and  poor  mingled  together.  AYhatever  else  the 
churches  are  they  are  democratic.  And  there  is  some- 
thing, I  know  not  what,  of  the  familiar  in  these  ser- 
vices that  is  pleasing.  Even  the  dogs  come  in  and 
wander  about  at  their  will,  seeking  their  masters  or 
mistresses,  and  no  one  remarks  or  repulses  them.  I 
have  seen  a  good-sized  dog,  even  a  little  one,  almost 
break  up  a  Protestant  worship  in  five  minutes. 

In  the  afternoon  of  Sunday  at  three  o'clock  the  reg- 
imental band  plays  upon  the  Promenade  de  Peyrou. 
All  the  world  goes  there,  all  there  is  of  fashion  and 
to7i  in  Montpellier  is  on  view.  The  music  was  not 
very  good,  mostly  light,  trashy  stuff  —  the  French 
military  bands  are  simply  not  to  be  compared  with  the 
German  —  but  the  whole  town  was  out.  There  must 
have  been  nearly  three  thousand  people  on  the  terrace 
—  a  gay  and  animated  concourse,  a  little  provincial, 
but  not  the  less  interesting.  One  noticed  that  the 
people  were  in  family  groups  for  the  most  part.     No 


MONTPELLIER.  37 

young  girls  imattendecl,  no  young  men  promenading 
with  young  ladies. 

At  noon  there  was  a  street  parade  of  the  traveling 
circus,  a  motley  procession  Avith  brass  band  and  brazen 
faces ;  pseudo  knights  in  soiled  mediaeval  costume  upon 
caparisoned  steeds ;  painted  women  on  horseback,  wdth 
copper  helmets  and  a  faded,  dissolute  air,  led  per- 
forming horses,  clowns  of  both  sexes,  and  the  usual 
vulgar  show  of  such  an  affair.  In  the  evening  the 
fair  on  the  esplanade,  next  to  our  hotel,  was  in  more 
than  full  blast,  and  crowded  with  people. 

We  seldom  have  so  animated  a  Sunday  in  Hartford. 
As  we  go  away  from  Paris,  and  out  of  the  through 
routes  to  Cannes  and  Nice,  we  see  less  and  less  English 
and  Americans  ;  only  French,  largely  commercial  trav- 
elers, wine  and  olive  merchants,  at  the  tables  d'hote. 
It  is  rare  to  hear  a  word  of  English  from  one  day  to 
another.  At  the  Avignon  hotel,  which  is  a  thorough- 
fare of  the  English,  little  else  is  heard  besides  their 
tongue,  and  the  sensitive  American  who  attempts  to 
speak  it  is  apt  to  be  encouraged  by  liis  British  cousin, 
who  lets  him  know  that  he  detects  his  accent,  but  likes 
Americans  himself — has,  in  short,  been  so  fortunate 
as  to  meet  a  good  many  pleasant  people  from  America. 
If  the  American  expresses  surprise  at  this  the  English- 
man pleasantly  insists,  and  even  goes  so  far  as  to  name 
names.  The  American  sometimes  gets  weary  of  this 
incessant  flattery,  and  seeks  to  evade  it  by  assuming 
at  the  outset  his  proper  position.  It  was  at  the  table 
in  Avignon  that  I  heard  one  of  my  countrymen  reply 


38      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

to  an  Educator  of  the  Globe  and  Standard  of  Man- 
ners, who  followed  his  soup  with  the  usual  question  — 
Parler-vous  Anglais,  3Ionseerf — "No,  sir,  I  speak 
American,  but  I  understand  English,  you  can  go  on." 

Here  at  Montpellier,  the  long  table  is  filled  day  after 
day  with  men,  prosperous,  well-to-do  looking  merchants, 
all  men  of  business  apparently.  Few  women  seem  to  be 
traveling.  They  are  all  French,  and  yet  the  types  are 
somehow  familiar,  and  we  constantly  see  faces  that  re- 
mind us  of  well  known  people  at  home.  There  is  one 
innocent  old  man  who  persists  in  remaining  here  who 
constantly  reminds  me  of  an  old  fool  in  Hartford, 
whose  name  I  cannot  recall.     He  is  very  annoying. 

I  should  like  before  I  close  this  wandering  epistle  to 
the  gentiles  to  call  the  attention  of  the  Hartford  club, 
by  way  of  eating,  to  a  sort  of  small,  soft-shell  clam 
they  have  here,  which  comes  from  Cette  or  Palavas, 
and  is  called  dovise.  It  is  a  very  nice  morsel,  as  a 
liors  d'ouvre  at  breakfast.  Worthy  the  attention  of 
the  club,  also,  is  a  tiny  white  fish  — an  inch  long  or  so, 
also  from  the  Mediterranean  —  which  is  a  great  deli- 
cacy when  fried  crisp.  The  club  cannot  do  better,  if 
it  is  out  of  white  bait,  than  to  direct  its  attention  to 
this  bonne  houcJie.  It  might  also  get  from  Montpellier 
—  but  it  of  course  does  not  care  for  that  —  the  best 
vin  ordinaire  I  have  ever  tasted. 


CHAPTER  V. 

CETTE. 

Oke  inducement  to  go  to  Cette  was  that  tlie  spelling 
of  the  word  has  some  relation  to  its  pronunciation,  a 
novelty  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  traveler  in 
France.  He  sometimes  feels  like  making:  suoxrestions 
on  this  point,  but  he  is  restrained  by  two  reflections  5 
one  is  the  need  of  a  spelling-reform  in  his  own  tongue, 
and  the  other  is  the  unimportance  of  the  suggestion  in 
regard  to  the  French  language.  The  English  and  not 
the  French  is  the  conquering  language  of  the  world. 
The  French  was  invented  to  enable  people  to  talk  in- 
terminably without  saying  anything.  The  language 
itself  is  full  oJ?  little  shrugs,  ejaculations,  refinements 
of  trifling  expirations  of  breath,  which  enable  two  peo- 
ple to  keep  up  a  friendly,  exciting,  inviting  little  noise 
incessantly  without  committing  themselves  to  any- 
thing. It  is  called  the  language  of  love  and  of  dij^lo- 
macy.  Voild  tout!  Everybody  knows  what  the  words 
of  lovers  and  of  diplomats  are  worth.  And  when  di- 
plomats are  also  lovers  we  have  the  final  use  of  the 
French  tongue. 

Cette  was  the  ancient  Setion  of  the  Greeks.  The 
name,  until  the  end  of  the  last  century,  was  written 
Sette. 


40       NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY, 

All  this  coast  from  Cette  to  Marseilles  is  a  most 
interesting  study  of  lagoons  and  sandbars.  These 
marshes  are  intersected  by  the  great  Canal  du  Midi, 
which,  coming  from  Toulouse,  and  thus  by  some  river 
navio-ation  connectins^  the  Atlantic  with  the  Mediter- 
ranean,  follows  the  winding  coast  from  Cette  to  Mar- 
seilles. 

You  approach  Cette  by  rail  on  a  long  curved  cause- 
way over  the  lagoons,  and  sometimes  close  along  the  sea. 
You  leave  it,  going  southwest,  by  another  long  sand 
beach  between  the  lagoon  and  the  sea.  Cette  is  in 
fact  as  good  as  an  island.  It  is,  however,  a  bold  prom- 
ontory, thrust  out  into  the  Mediterranean  at  the  end 
of  a  sand  spit.  Mons  Sethis  was  its  name  before  the 
Christian  era.  The  bidk  of  the  town  is  on  a  flat,  cut 
by  canals,  the  streets  communicating  by  drawbridges. 
Its  best  street  is  a  canal  flanked  by  broad  quays  and 
high  houses;  so  that  the  masts  of  small  vessels  ap- 
pear amidst  the  houses  of  the  town.  It  has  also  an 
artificial  harbor,  mad©  by  a  stone  pier*and  breakwa- 
ter, an  inclosed  basin  with  a  narrow  entrance,  and  a 
lio-ht-house.  The  town  has  all  the  characteristics  of 
an  active  seaport :  quays  crowded  with  drays,  hogs- 
heads piled  up,  noise,  dirt,  clamor,  confusion,  taverns, 
cafes,  a  floating  southern  population,  sailors  from  all 
the  Mediterranean  ports,  dark-eyed,  bronze-cheeked 
women,  able  to  give  back  as  good  as  they  get  to  the 
chaff  of  the  sailors. 

The  population  (as  one  sees  it  in  the  streets)  is  evi- 
dently mixed,  dashed  with  the  blood  of  Italian,  Span^ 


CETTE.  41 

isli,  and  Greek.  The  result  is  favorable.  One  sees 
many  pretty,  handsome  faces  of  young  girls.  Until 
you  get  south  the  French  woman  is  celebrated  for  any- 
thing but  her  beauty.  In  Paris  a  handsome  woman  is 
as  rare  as  a  good  one  in  some  places.  And  the  race 
does  not  improve  until  you  get  to  the  Mediterranean 
coast.  These  southern  towns  are  tolerably  well  sup- 
plied with  attractive  and  piquant  if  not  altogether 
handsome  faces.  I  was  in  Cette  only  a  few  hours,  and 
perhaps  I  did  not  see  all  the  women  in  the  city,  but  I 
probably  saw  most  of  them,  for  it  is  the  habit  to  be 
out  doors.  The  young  women  are  on  the  street  with 
babies ;  the  old  ones  sit  by  the  doors  of  their  little 
shops  or  their  houses  and  knit.  There  are  groups  in 
the  squares.  There  are  knots  of  them  watching  the 
soldiers  drill  on  the  parade.  Soldiering  is  going  on 
here  as  everywhere  else.  On  the  parade  the  raw  con- 
scipts,  got  into  uniforms  which  do  not  fit,  are  being 
put  through  gymnastic  exercises.  Standing  in  rows 
each  six  feet  from  another,  at  the  word,  they  all  lift 
up  the  left  leg  together,  put  that  down  and  lift  uj)  the 
right ;  bend  forward  till  the  head  is  as  near  the  ground 
as  possible,  and  then  stay  there  for  a  while ;  squat 
down  in  unison  and  get  up,  squat  down  and  get  up, 
squat  down  and  get  up,  —  it  is  a  most  usful  and 
beautiful  sight  in  this  age  of  the  world. 

The  streets  of  the  city  are  not  all  flat.  Some  of 
them  climb  up  the  round,  steep  hill.  This  conical  hill, 
which  in  the  upper  half  is  all  occupied  by  little  villas 
and  gardens,  inclosed  in  high  walls,  is  five  hundred 


42      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

and  ninety  feet  high.  Try  climbing  up  its  stony 
way,  half  steps  and  half  sharp  stones,  after  a  three 
franc  breakfast  (wine  included)  and  see  if  you  do 
not  think  it  is  half  as  high  as  Talcott  mountain.  On 
the  very  top  is  a  telegraph  signal  station,  and  the 
queerest  little  church.  The  view  from  it  of  the  sea 
dotted  with  sails,  the  lagoons  traversed  by  causeways 
and  canals,  the  mainland  shore  sprinkled  with  villages, 
Lake  Thau  and  the  Cevennes  striding  down  from  the 
north,  is  superb. 

Half-way  up  the  hill,  on  the  top  of  a  tower  of  a 
large  church,  stands  a  monstrous  image  of  the  Virgin 
in  shining  new  bronze,  perhaps  the  largest  bronze  fig- 
ure of  the  Virgin  in  the  world.  It  watches  over  the 
town,  and  must  be  an  object  of  hope  to  the  storm- 
tossed  sailors. 

We  are  most  interested,  however,  in  Cette  as  the 
place  from  whence  come  our  wines.  Cette  has  one  of 
the  largest  wine  manufactories  in  France.  There  are 
made  here  annually  over  one  hundred  thousand  pipes 
of  imitations  of  all  the  well  kno\vn  wines.  M.  Boucoi- 
ran  says,  "  the  fabrication  of  vessels  and  casks  of  every 
size  procures  a  constant  employment  to  numerous 
workers.  But  which  makes  the  object  of  a  consider- 
able trade  is  the  mingling  of  various  wines,  to  imitate 
perfectly  well  those  different  soils  and  growths,  such 
as  Spanish,  Greek,  Sicilian,  Portuguese,  with  their 
colors  and  natural  perfumes."  These  wine  factories 
partially  explain  why  it  is,  in  the  bad  years  for  wine 
even,  all  sorts  of  excellent  wines  are  cheaper  in  New 


CETTE.  43 

York,  after  paying  duties,  tlian  in  Paris.  You  get, 
by  the  way,  mucli  better  table  wine  —  vin  07xlinaire  — 
in  these  southern  towns  than  in  Paris.  And  the  same 
may  be  said  of  coffee.  I  happen  to  know  only  one 
place  in  Paris  where  a  cup  of  genuine  coffee  can  be 
had.  At  the  hotels  and  cafes  generally  you  get  little 
but  chiccory.  Whereas,  in  Avignon,  Nimes,  Montpel- 
lier,  and  even  in  smaller  places  in  the  south,  cafe  is 
commonly  made  of  coffee. 

But  if  the  wine  in  Cette  is  bogus,  I  can  testify  that 
the  milk  is  genuine,  unless  the  cows  are  party  to  a  de- 
ception. In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  I  saw  in  a 
principal  street  what  I  supposed  to  be  a  couple  of  yoke 
of  oxen.  Drawing  nearer,  they  still  appeared  by  their 
size  and  the  shape  of  their  heads  to  be  oxen.  They 
were  tied  in  couples,  and  their  eyes  blinded  by  fringed 
curtains.  Behold,  however,  they  were  cows  !  About 
them  stood  groups  of  women,  each  with  a  little  earthen 
pitcher  that  might  hold  two  gills,  waiting  for  her  turn 
to  have  it  filled.  There  was  no  deception  here.  The 
milk  was  milked  straight  into  the  little  pitchers,  under 
the  inspection  of  the  women,  who  carefully  watched  the 
process  and  took  care  that  they  did  not  get  too  much 
foam  for  their  sous.  How  the  cows  like  this  "  strip- 
ping," here  and  there,  from  street  to  street,  and  whether 
they  will  stand  milking  in  driblets  all  day,  I  cannot 
say.  This  is,  however,  the  only  way,  in  this  sinful, 
watery  world,  to  get  honest  milk. 

The  weather  in  Montpellier,  in  the  closing  days  of 
November,  which  has  been  a  little  cloudy,  but  calm 


44      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

and  warm  and  free  from  the  storms  that  have  scourged 
the  north  of  France,  is  again  bright  and  sunny.  As 
I  write  I  have  had  to  close  the  outside  blinds  to  keep 
out  the  sun. 

Monti^ellier  is  as  lively  and  crowded  as  ever.  Why 
so  many  strangers  (all  French)  come  here  and  fill  the 
hotels  day  after  day  nobody  seems  to  know.  Perhaps 
it  is  trade,  perhaps  the  schools,  perhaps  the  courts 
which  are  in  session.  I  looked  into  the  court-rooms 
the  other  daj'-.  The  lawyers  and  judges  all  wear  black 
robes,  cut  with  a  gathered  yoke  on  the  shoulder,  with 
white  bands  in  front,  and  romid  fluted  ca]5s,  larger  at 
the  top  than  at  the  bottom  —  a  very  becoming  head- 
piece. Some  of  them  have  a  black  rosette  on  the 
shoulder,  and  a  tab  hanging  from  it  tipped  with  er- 
mine. 

In  the  "court  of  the  first  instance,"  the  inferior 
court,  were  three  judges  on  the  bench.  Behind  them 
on  the  wall  hung  a  crucifix.  On  the  same  elevated 
platform,  at  the  sides,  were  the  clerks.  The  railed 
space  in  front  was  empty.  In  the  benches  before  the 
bar  sat  the  lawyers,  among  their  clients  and  among  the 
spectators.  Whatever  case  was  going  on  nearly  every 
lawyer  present  seemed  to  take  a  hand  in  it,  jumping  up 
every  few  moments  to  make  a  remark  or  read  a  paper. 
On  the  bench  of  the  court  of  appeals  sat  six  judges. 
A  lawyer  was  making  an  argument,  chattering  and 
jerking  himself  up  and  down  with  the  utmost  vivacity, 
and  his  colleague  was  so  much  interested  in  it  that  he 
occasionally  gestured  for  his  partner.     The  court  was 


CETTE.  45 

mucli  like  any  other  court.  The  fattest  judge  was 
fast  asleep  and  nodding  —  he  was  probably  the  one 
who  would  write  the  opinion,  being  unprejudiced. 
The  one  next  him  was  writing  a  letter.  The  two  next 
were  reading  letters  and  conversing.  Another  was 
writing.  And  the  last  was  regarding  space  vacantly. 
Nobody  listened  to  the  orator,  who  nevertheless  kept 
on  in  the  most  persuasive  and  gentlemanly  manner. 

The  criminal  court  was  not  in  session.  But  the 
criminal  business  must  be  large,  if  one  can  judge  by 
the  newspapers,  which  are  filled  with  accounts  of  most 
brutal  crimes.  The  country,  however,  seems  to  be  in 
a  better  state  than  Paris.  Every  day  the  Paris  jour- 
nals contain  many  accounts  of  crimes  to  the  person, 
such  as  street  assaults,  stabbings,  and  murders.  Paris 
is  evidently  not  nearly  so  well  in  hand  as  it  was  imder 
the  empire,  when,  under  the  strict  watch  of  the  police, 
the  stranger  was  safe  to  wander  anywhere  day  or  night. 
It  is  far  from  being  so  now. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AIGUES-MOKTES. 

"  Several  ways,"  says  tlie  most  amusing  giiide-book 
for  Provence  and  Languedoc,  written  by  M.  Boucoiran 
of  Nimes,  wlio  has  discovered  new  incapacities  in  the 
English  language,  —  "  several  ways  are  offered  to  the 
travelers  to  attain  Aigues-Mortes ;  by  earth  or  by  wa- 
ters, but  the  most  practical  is  by  railroad." 

I  found  it  so.  The  approach  by  rail  is  through  the 
marshes  and  lagoons  which  lie  on  either  side  of  the 
Rhone.  This  country,  only  a  foot  or  two  above  the 
Mediterranean,  and  intersected  by  canals,  is  one  vast 
vineyard.  The  wine  produced  is,  I  suppose,  of  an  in- 
ferior quality,  but  the  quantity  ought  to  satisfy  any- 
bocty, 

"  Before  the  arrival "  —  I  cannot  refrain  from  quot- 
ing the  accomplished  Boucoiran  — "  in  sight  of  the 
Carboniere  tower  toward  the  left,  upon  a  hillock, 
and  between  other  modern  rural  constructions,  an  old 
arched  wall  that  is  yet  up  there.  Upon  that  former 
house  many  centuries  intrusted  their  architectural 
forms,  and  the  tradition  did  maintain  to  that  place  the 
name  of  Psalinodi,  because  the  Benedictine  monks  who 
were  established  there  since  the  eighth  century,  sung 
unceasing  psalms." 


AIGUES-MORTES.  47 

This  old  abbey  was  in  one  sense  the  mother  of  the 
later  city,  bvit  Aignes-Mortes  —  the  name  signifies 
"  staonant  water  "  —  owes  its  importance  to  Louis  IX., 
the  saint.  It  required  a  saint  to  drop  a  full-walled 
city,  a  town  completely  inclosed  with  high  ramparts 
and  lofty  fighting  towers,  in  the  midst  of  these  swamps, 
and  approached  from  the  tideless  Mediterranean  only 
by  shallow  channels. 

The  view  from  the  ramparts  is  largely  of  water  and 
sandy  ground  saturated  with  salt,  a  narrow  zone  about 
the  walls  lending  itself  to  cultivation.  "  The  sight," 
says  our  instructor,  "  can  only  perceive  a  wide  extent, 
in  midst  of  which  arise  some  pine  forests  that  intersect 
ponds  bordered  by  tamarisk  trees  and  reeds.  Upon 
these  sandy  shores  and  damp  moors  abound  venomous 
reptiles ;  there  whirl  around  swarms  of  winged  insects, 
and  feed  on  freely  flocks  of  savage  bulls  or  white 
horses.  Among  the  numerous  water  fowls  that  fill 
these  ponds  the  hunters  often  perceive,  on  the  edge  of 
waters,  a  company  of  long-legged  ibis,  and  pursuing 
their  career  at  the  first  alarm,  they  display  in  flock,  at 
the  sun  their  rosy  wings." 

From  this  inviting  coast  Saint  Louis  chose  to  em- 
bark for  Palestine,  and  that  is  the  explanation  of  the 
existence  here  of  the  most  remarkable  walled  city  in 
France,  the  most  perfect  and  picturesque  reminder  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  From  afar  off  we  see  its  high  ram- 
parts and  heavy  round  towers,  all  in  perfect  condi- 
tion ;  and  it  would  occasion  no  surprise  to  see  the 
crenlated  walls  manned  with  men  in  armor,  and  to  be- 


48      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

liold  a  cavalcade  of  knights  enter  one  of  the  narrow- 
gates. 

The  city  is  so  small  and  the  walls  are  so  solid  that 
it  seems  as  if  it  would  be  possible  to  pick  up  the  whole 
affair  and  carry  it  away  —  that  it  would  all  hang  to- 
gether like  a  toy  city  which  children  play  with.  The 
embrasured  wall  is  built  in  the  exact  form  of  a  paral- 
lelogram, and  it  is  only  596  yards  long  by  149  yards 
in  breadth.  The  walls  are  thirty-six  feet  higli,  flanked 
by  fifteen  round  towers.  From  the  interior  at  regular 
intervals  steps  ascend  to  the  top  of  the  ramparts.  The 
most  remarkable,  and  the  famous  one,  of  these  round 
towers  is  that  of  Constance,  built  out  by  salient  walls 
from  the  northeast  corner.  This  tower  is  ninety-*six 
feet  high  and  seventy-two  feet  in  diameter,  and  con- 
tains a  couple  of  vaulted  chambers,  the  walls  of  which 
are,  at  the  base,  of  enormous  thickness.  This  tower 
is  surmounted  by  a  slender  column,  upon  which  a  lan- 
tern used  to  be  kept  burning  at  night. 

Within  these  narrow  limits,  Aigiies-Mortes  is  a  little 
city  of  straight,  narrow  streets.  There  are  several  en- 
trance gates,  and  from  one  you  look  straight  through 
the  city  out  of  another.  It  is  said  that  in  its  prosper- 
ous days  the  city  had  a  population  crowded  into  it 
of  11,000.  It  is  credited  now  with  about  4,000,  but 
it  seemed  to  me  there  were  scarcely  1,000  people  in  its 
silent  streets.  There  are  in  it  many  vacant  plots  of 
ground  and  many  deserted  houses.  Every  other  walled 
city  I  have  ever  seen  has  outgi-own  its  bondage  and 
spread  into  the  siu-roimdiug  coimtry.     Aigues-Mortes 


A IG  UES-MOR  TES,  49 

has  shrunk  within  its  stone  shell,  and  rattles  around  in 
it  like  a  dried  nut. 

It  was  in  the  summer  of  1224  that  Louis  IX.,  be- 
ing sick,  and  mindful  of  the  necessity  of  propitiating 
Heaven,  projected  a  crusade  to  Palestine.  All  the 
havens  along  tlie  coast  were  in  possession  of  his  ene- 
mies or  rivals.  Montpellier,  with  its  creeks,  belonged 
to  the  King  of  Aragou,  Maguelonne  to  a  bishop,  Nar- 
bonne  to  Count  Aimery  IV.,  and  so  on ;  while  Mar- 
seilles was  then  not  sufficient  for  the  King  of  France, 
and  he  wished  a  less  conspicuous  place,  where  he  coidd 
make  preparations  at  his  leisure,  and  assemble  his  eight 
hundred  galleys  and  his  forty  thousand  fighting  men. 
Important  works  were  undertaken,  a  sort  of  port  was 
made,  the  channels  were  deepened,  and  on  the  25th  of 
August,  1248,  Saint  Louis  with  Queen  Marguerite, 
having  heard  mass  in  the  Church  of  Notre  Dame  des 
Sablons, —  the  ugly  little  edifice  still  stands  in  the  prin- 
cipal square,  and  evidently  has  not  been  ventilated 
since  1248,  for  its  smell  dates  back  to  the  time  when 
smeUs  were  first  created,  —  embarked  in  great  state  and 
with  much  noise  on  his  first  crusade.  He  sailed  again 
from  Aigues-Mortes  in  July,  1270,  on  his  second  jaunt 
to  Palestine,  and  he  died  that  year  in  August  amid  the 
ruins  of  Carthaii'e.  These  two  crusades  are  known  as 
the  fifth  and  sixth.  In  the  old  square  of  the  city  there 
is  a  fme  statue  of  the  hero  of  these,  by  Pradier.  King 
Louis,  clad  in  a  coat  of  mail  and  armor,  has  a  beauti- 
ful face  and  figure. 

Saint  Louis,  who  so  much  loved  Aigues-Mortes,  did 
4 


50      ]\^OTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

not  however,  build  its  walls.  Tliey  were  erected  by  bis 
son,  Philippe  the  Hardy,  after  the  plan,  it  is  said,  of 
the  defenses  of  Damietta,  the  city  at  the  east  mouth  of 
the  Nile.  The  exact  spot  where  Saint  Louis  embarked 
on  his  crusades  has  been  in  dispute.  But  our  accom- 
plished writer  of  English  throws  this  light  upon  it: 
"  It  was  discovered  by  chance,  in  1835  a  little  vessel 
concealed  under  the  sands,  on  the  spot  called  Z/cs 
Totnhes,  and  where,  it  is  supposed,  Saint  Louis  had 
ordered  to  be  built  an  hospital  for  pilgiims.  That  old 
carcass  ascended  until  enough  ancient  ages,  but  difficult 
to  precise  exactly,  and  at  least  certified  that,  had  ex- 
isted at  that  place,  before  the  tliirteenth  centuiy,  a  pas- 
sage for  the  ships  going  in  the  port  of  Aigues-Mortes." 

But  the  city  has  other  historic  interests.  In  an  old 
house  one  is  shown  a  chamber  —  containing  a  famous 
carved  mantel-inece,  known  as  the  Cheminee  de  Saint 
Louis  —  where  was  held  in  1538  the  interview  be- 
tween Francis  I.  and  Charles  V.  of  Spain,  what  time 
Ilariadan  Barbarousse,  the  Moslem  corsair,  was  hover- 
ing along  the  coast  to  ravish  the  towns  and  carry  away 
slaves. 

Of  still  more  interest  to  us  are  the  religious  perse- 
cutions of  the  sixteenth  century,  of  which  this  city  was 
one  of  the  centres.  The  towns  of  Languedoc  took 
eagerly  to  the  reformation  of  15G0.  It  was  impossible 
to  repress  the  increase  of  proselytes  to  the  new  faith. 
Aigues-Mortes  was  the  seat  of  a  constant  struggle  be- 
tween the  Calvinists  and  the  Papists,  who  held  it  turn 
and  turn  about.     Louis  XIV.  visited  this  region  with 


A IG  UES-MOR  TES.  51 

fire  and  fagot.  After  the  repeal  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes 
Protestant  worship  was  forbidden  in  this  region,  houses 
of  worship  were  i3ulled  down,  meetings  for  worship 
were  forbidden,  emigration  was  prohibited,  and  the 
faithful  were  immured  in  loathsome  dungeons. 

The  tower  of  Constance  was  for  many  years  the 
prison  of  unfortunate  women  whose  sin  was  an  humble 
profession  of  the  Protestant  faith.  I  saw  the  round 
chamber  in  the  second  story  in  which  they  were  con- 
fined. It  has  several  long,  narrow  slits  in  the  thick 
walls  to  admit  air,  and  one  small,  grated  window.  In 
this  room,  with  never  any  egress,  were  hea^jed  together 
the  poor  women,  fed  on  the  coarsest  food,  with  little 
light  and  air,  and  deprived  of  the  common  accommoda- 
tions of  life.  The  wretched  condition  of  these  prison- 
ers at  length  excited  the  sympathy  of  the  Swiss,  the 
Hollanders,  and  the  Germans,  who  by  their  ministers 
protested  to  the  covirt  of  Louis  XIV.,  but  without  other 
result  than  to  increase  the  rigors  of  the  prisoners. 
Their  confinement  lasted  during  a  good  ^aart  of  the 
reign  of  Louis  XV.  Finally,  in  1767,  a  humane  man. 
Prince  de  Beauvau,  was  made  commandant  of  the 
province  (Langnedoc),  and  insj)ected  the  tower  of  Con- 
stance. I  cannot,  he  says  in  his  report,  describe  the 
horror  of  the  first  view  of  this  appalling  chamber, 
which  had  as  little  light  as  air.  Fourteen  women,  the 
survivors  of  many,  pined  away  in  wretchedness  and 
tears.  Disgust  at  the  sight  of  them  was  mingled  with 
pity.  At  the  unexpected  visit  the  poor  women  fell  to- 
gether at  his  feet,  seeking  words  and  finding  only  sob- 


62      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

bings.  "  Alas  !  their  capital  crime  was  to  have  been 
born  and  instructed  in  the  same  belief  as  Henry  IV. 
The  youngest  of  these  martyrs  exceeded  fifty  years,  and 
she  was  only  eight  years  old  when  she  had  been  appre- 
hended, going  with  her  mother  to  hear  a  sermon,  and 
her  punishment  yet  continued."  On  the  walls  of  this 
round  chamber  are  scratched  the  names  of  these  unfor- 
tunate women  who  for  nearly  half  a  century  languished 
there. 

So  much  for  the  historical  interest  of  Aigues-Mortes, 
where,  in  a  dirty  little  inn,  ill-kept  by  friendly,  simple 
people,  I  had  a  capital  breakfast.  But  I  confess  that 
I  was  drawn  to  visit  the  city  by  an  interest  still  more 
romantic.  For  it  was  at  Aigues-Mortes  that  Pierre  de 
Provence  landed  after  his  oriental  captivity,  and  it  was 
on  an  island  near  it  that  the  fair  Maguelonne  founded 
her  hospital  for  pilgrims  and  wayfarers. 

Perhaps  you  do  not  remember  the  details  of  the 
charming  story  of  "  Pierre  de  Provence  et  de  La  Belle 
Maguelonne  "  ?  It  was  a  favorite  history  in  the  twelfth 
century.  This  romance  was  turned  into  verse  in  1178, 
by  Barnard  de  Trivics,  canon  of  Maguelonne,  and  it  is 
said  that  it  was  one  of  the  first  books  that  Petrarch 
read  when  he  came  to  Avignon,  and  that  he  attempted 
to  perfect  it. 

The  story  is,  in  brief,  this:  Pierre  was  the  son  of 
Jean  de  Provence  and  his  lovely  wife,  Isabelle,  the 
daughter  of  Don  Alvares,  Count  of  Barcelona.  He 
had  considerable  fortune,  and  the  right  to  reign  sov- 
ereign of  the  Comtal ;  but  he  preferred  peace  to  glory, 


AIGUES-MORTES.  53 

and  did  not  dispute  the  title  witli  lils  usurping  brother, 
but  lived  with  more  content  at  Cavaillon,  with  his 
beautiful  and  virtuous  wife,  than  if  he  had  possessed 
the  empire  of  the  world.  Pierre  was  their  only  child. 
He  was  most  carefully  educated,  trained  to  all  exer- 
cises in  arms  as  well  as  letters ;  modest,  virtuous,  hand- 
some. No  one  could  excel  him  in  the  pastimes  of 
chivalry  ;  he  could  turn  a  neater  verse  than  the  pro- 
fessional troubadours,  and  he  unhorsed  and  conquered 
all  the  knights  that  came  from  all  Europe  to  his  fa- 
ther's tom-naments.  Before  he  was  of  age  he  had  the 
renown  of  an  unconquerable  lailght.  Attractive  as  he 
was  in  person,  he  was  a  stranger  to  the  passion  of  lov6, 
and  loved  then,  and  all  his  life,  virtue  more  than  gal- 
lantry. 

One  day,  at  his  father's  table,  some  gallant  knights 
whom  he  had  overthrown  in  the  lists  spoke  much  of 
the  court  of  the  King  of  Naples  and  of  the  exquisite 
beauty  of  Maguelonne,  the  daughter  of  the  king. 
Pierre  was  suddenly  inflamed  with  the  desire  of  see- 
ing her,  and  playing  a  knight's  part  in  the  tourneys  of 
such  a  court.  With  difficulty  he  obtained  permission 
of  his  parents  to  go  in  search  of  adventures.  When 
he  departed,  his  inconsolable  mother  presented  him 
with  three  precious  rings.  With  a  small  following  of 
servants,  he  reached  Naples,  where  he  took  retired 
lodgings  and  remained  unknown.  At  the  first  procla- 
mation of  the  tournament  he  entered  the  lists  as  a 
nameless  knight.  Needless  to  say  that  he  overturned 
everybody  who  opposed  him.    He  saw  La  Belle  Mague- 


54      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

lonne,  and  was  ra\'isliecl  with  her  beauty  and  her 
sweetness.  She,  on  her  part,  was  equally  enamored 
of  him.  He  was  signally  honored  by  the  king,  and 
invited  to  a  banquet  at  the  palace.  There  he  ex- 
changed words  with  the  idol  of  his  eyes,  who  was  most 
gracious  to  the  young  knight.  But  he  refused  all  so- 
licitations to  disclose  his  name  and  rank. 

Tournament  followed  tournament.  He  was  always 
victorious,  and  was  advanced  more  and  more  in  the 
favor  of  the  king  and  queen.  But  the  new-felt  pas- 
sion of  love  tormented  him.  It  tormented  also  the 
fair  Maguelonne,  who  had  never  felt  it  before.  And 
with  a  fresh  and  sweet  sincerity,  which  cannot  be  too 
much  commentled,  she  sent  him  word  by  her  maid  of 
her  state  of  mind.  The  maid  arranged  an  inter\aew 
in  lier  apartment  in  the  palace.  The  two  lovers,  whose 
love  was  as  pure  as  snow,  vowed  never  to  love  nor  to 
marry  other  man  or  woman.  On  her  entreaty  he  dis- 
closed his  name.  But  there  were  political  reasons 
why  he  could  not  ask  her  hand  of  her  father.  It  is 
curious  to  note,  in  a  story  of  that  age,  that  she  did  not 
care  for  rank :  birth,  she  said,  was  only  an  accident, 
and  she  wished  she  had  been  a  simple  peasant  giil ; 
only  then  she  would  have  liked  him  to  have  lived  on 
the  next  farm,  so  that  they  coidd  have  married  without 
leave  of  anybody. 

Obstacles  to  their  union  were  manj^ ;  she  feared 
that  some  day  her  father  would  compel  her  to  accept 
for  husbantl  a  disacreeable  kniiiht  whom  she  hated. 
The  lovers  took  the  bold  resolve  of  escaping  together. 


AIGUES-MORTES.  55 

Taking  her  personal  jewels,  they  sallied  forth  at  night 
on  horseback,  with  a  few  faithful  attendants.  At 
dawn  they  stopped  in  a  lonely  wood  by  the  sea-shore 
to  repose.  The  tired  girl,  trusting  always  the  honor 
of  her  pure  lover,  slept  reclining  in  his  arms.  As  she 
slept,  a  little  wooden  box,  which  contained  the  three 
rings  of  his  mother  that  Pierre  had  given  her,  slipped 
from  her  pocket.  A  sea-bird,  seeing  it,  swooped  down 
and  carried  it  ofP.  Pierre,  folding  his  cloak  for 
Maguelonne  to  rest  her  head  upon,  gently  laid  her 
down  and  went  in  pursuit  of  the  bird,  who  dropped 
the  box  into  the  sea.  Pierre  jmnped  into  a  leaky  fish- 
ing-boat wliich  had  no  oars,  and  pushed  out  to  recover 
it.  A  wind  blew  the  boat  from  the  shore  farther  and 
farther.  Pierre  was  in  despair.  The  one  accomplish- 
ment he  lacked  was  swimming. 

Result :  The  boat  was  blown  out  at  sea.  Pierre  was 
picked  up  by  some  Moorish  pirates,  sold  as  a  slave  to 
the  Sultan  of  Alexandria,  became  a  great  favorite  with 
the  Sultan,  assisted  him  in  council  and  in  war.  The 
Sidtan  woidd  make  him  his  son,  and  give  him  his 
daughter.  Pierre  said  it  was  not  the  manner  of  his 
religion  to  have  more  than  one  wife,  and  that  he  was 
betrothed  already.  The  Sultan  thought  the  more 
wives  the  better.  He  attempted  to  convert  his  slave, 
but  PieiTe  resisted  all  the  arguments  of  the  dervishes 
and  all  the  blandishments  of  the  seducing  odalisques. 
At  last,  after  eight  j'^ears  of  captivity,  the  Sultan  gave 
Pierre  his  liberty,  embarked  him  on  a  vessel  bound  to 
Provence,  and  enriched  him  with  loads  of  jewels  and 


56      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

fine  stuffs,  which  for  security  were  placed  in  fourteen 
"barrels  covered  with  salt  at  each  end. 

The  vessel  stopped  for  water  at  a  little  island. 
Pierre  wandered  ashore  and  was  left,  while  the  vessel 
sailed  on,  and  by  chance  came  to  Aigues-Mortes,  and 
left  the  barrels  of  salt  at  a  hospital  on  a  little  island 
near  by,  in  charge  of  the  Superior,  who  stored  them 
away,  having  learned  that  they  were  the  property  of 
a  passenger  left  behind.  And  in  this  passenger,  for 
some  reason,  she  took  an  uncommon  interest.  Pierre, 
after  as  many  adventures  as  Ulysses,  came  at  last  him- 
self to  Aigues-Mortes,  sick  and  forlorn,  and  sought  the 
shelter  of  the  hospital,  over  which  presided  a  charm- 
ing  young  Superior,  who  always  wore  her  veil,  whose 
name  was  concealed,  and  who  was  only  known  by  her 
bountiful  charity  and  her  loving,  tender  spirit  to  all 
the  unfortunate. 

The  story  of  Maguelonne,  after  her  abandonment,  is 
equally  romantic.  She  dared  not  go  back  to  Naples 
for  fear  of  involving  her  attendants  in  dire  punish- 
ment. Instead,  she  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Rome  in 
company  with  an  honest  and  lovely  family,  who  were 
going  there  to  get  a  dispensation  from  the  Pope  for 
the  marriage  of  their  daughter  to  her  cousin.  From 
Eome  she  sought  Provence,  the  country  of  her  lover. 
There  she  found  that  the  story  of  her  flight  was  known, 
and  from  what  she  heard  of  the  anger  of  his  parents 
against  her  she  did  not  dare  to  present  herself  to 
them.  She  went  to  the  little  island  near  Aigues- 
Mortes,  and  founded  a  hospital  for  pilgrims.     Her  re- 


AIGUES-MORTES.  67 

nown  soon  spread.  Among  tliose  who  came  to  see  her 
were  Count  Jean  and  Isabelle  his  wife.  They  learned 
to  love  her  for  herself ;  and,  finally,  she  disclosed  to 
them  her  name,  and  all  her  faithful  love  and  hope. 
She  believed  that  Pierre  had  been  captured  by  the 
Moslems,  and  that  some  day  he  would  return. 

One  day  a  fisherman  brought  to  the  chateau  at  Ca- 
vaillon  a  fine  turbot,  and  presented  it  to  the  Countess 
Isabelle.  What  was  her  surprise,  on  opening  it,  to 
find  v/ithin  a  small  wooden  box,  which  contained  the 
three  rings  she  had  given  to  Pierre.  This  was  proof 
to  the  parents  that  Pierre  was  dead,  and  they  had 
funeral  services  performed  accordingly.  But  ISIague- 
lonne  would  not  accept  this  as  proof  of  his  loss,  and 
still  waited  for  him. 

In  the  hospital  Pierre,  who  was  very  weak,  was  ten- 
derly nursed  by  the  veiled  Superior,  who,  however, 
did  not  dare  to  disclose  herself  for  fear  of  the  effect 
of  siidden  joy  in  his  exhausted  condition.  He  told 
her  his  sad  story.  At  length,  when  he  was  a  little 
recovered,  she  told  him  that  Maguelonne  lived,  that 
she  knew  her  well ;  and  one  day  she  brought  Pierre 
a  letter  written  in  Maguelonne's  own  hand,  which  he 
recognized.  Then  she  feigned  the  necessity  of  three 
days'  absence,  and  on  her  return  she  invited  Pierre  to 
supper  in  her  apartments.  What  was  his  astonish- 
ment to  see  there  his  father  and  his  mother,  and 
Maguelonne  herself,  in  all  her  radiant  sweetness. 

Does  not  all  the  world  know  that  they  were  married 
immediately,  and  that  they  succeeded  to  the  throne 


68      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

of  Naples,  probably  the  happiest  king  and  queen  who 
ever  sat  upon  it,  or  on  any  thi'one,  and  that  their  only 
son  united  on  liis  head  the  crown  of  Naples  and  that 
of  the  Comte  of  Provence  ?  It  is  needless  to  say  that 
the  fourteen  barrels  of  salt  were  not  forgotten  at  the 
wedding. 

When  I  stood  outside  the  walls  of  Aigiies-Mortes 
that  night,  toward  the  setting  of  the  sun,  the  washer- 
women of  the  city  were  gathering  their  clothes  from 
the  lines  stretched  on  stakes  driven  into  the  sand. 
Children  were  playing  around  their  mothers  by  the 
edge  of  the  salt  and  tideless  water.  Under  the  high 
walls,  in  the  full  play  of  the  generous  sun,  sat  on  the 
gravel  a  few  old  men,  apparently  contented  in  idleness 
and  rags.  Over  the  rosy  water  and  the  gray  marsh, 
and  under  a  sky  blazing  with  broken  clouds  of  orange 
and  pink  and  green,  I  fancied  I  could  see  the  happy 
island  and  hosjjital  walls  where  the  constant  Pierre 
was  nursed  back  to  life  by  La  Belle  Maguelonne. 
Perhaps  they  were  only  in  the  sky. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LA    BELLE    MAGUELONNE. 

I  HAVE  at  last  found  Magiielonne :  the  lonesome 
little  island  which  seems  to  float  among  the  lagoons, 
and  might  any  day  drift  out  to  sea,  or  pass  away  among 
the  moimtains  of  clouds  of  which  it  seems  to  be  a  part 
on  a  hazy  day,  or  at  sunset  when  its  church  tower  and 
pines  are  lifted  up  and  magnified  in  the  rosy,  trans- 
forming light. 

This  tiny  island  is  the  seat  of  the  very  ancient  bish- 
opric and  church  of  Maguelonne,  and  I  doubt  not  the 
romantic  scene  of  the  charming  story  which  I  have 
sketched  of  "Pierre  de Provence  et  La  Belle  de  Mague- 
lonne." Whether  grave  history  takes  any  account  of 
the  fair  Maguelonne,  I  cannot  learn,  but  local  tradi- 
tion preserves  her  name  among  the  most  cherisiied 
stories  of  mediaeval  times ;  and,  for  myself,  I  do  not 
doubt  that  the  heroine  of  the  romance  and  of  the  des- 
olate island  are  one  and  the  same  person. 

All  this  coast  from  Cette  to  Marseilles  is  a  series 
of  lagoons  and  sand  dunes,  irregular  in  its  lines,  trav- 
ersed  by  the  great  Canal  du  Midi  and  strewn  with  lit- 
tle fishing  villages. 

I  went  one  day  by  rail,  half  an  hour,  from  Mont- 


60      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

pellier  to  Palavas,  across  the  lagoons  and  canals,  the 
marshes  haunted  by  the  bird-hunters  and  set  out  in 
vineyards  Avherever  there  is  any  firm  ground.  Pala- 
vas was  until  recently  a  poor  fishing  village  on  each 
side  of  the  little  river  Lez.  Now  it  has  become  a  re- 
sort for  summer  bathing  for  all  this  region  of  Herault, 
and  has  many  pretentious  hotels  and  lodging-houses, 
which  being  closed  at  this  season  give  the  place  a  par- 
ticularly deserted  air.  It  smells,  however,  of  fish  and 
clams.  The  stream  and  the  canals  are  full  of  small 
boats,  nets  are  spread  on  the  stone  pavements,  and  the 
ruddy-cheeked  girls,  browTii  women  with  black  eyes, 
and  the  loutish  men  proclaim  the  hardy  nature  of  the 
occupation  of  its  inhabitants. 

On  my  way  down  I  had  marked,  away  to  the  right, 
across  the  lagoons,  at  a  great  distance  as  it  seemed  in 
the  hazy  autumn  air,  an  island  vvith  an  elevated  mass 
of  buildings  amid  trees.  I  thought  that  could  not  be 
my  Maguelonne,  but  upon  inquiry  I  ascertained  that 
it  was,  and  that  it  could  only  be  reached  by  an  hom-'s 
good  walk  along  the  curving  shore. 

This  long  sand  dune  might  be  compared  to  the  Lido 
at  Venice,  but  it  is  not  so  high  or  so  attractive.  In- 
deed, a  more  solitary  promenade  could  not  be  desired 
by  a  misanthrope.  The  road  stretched  across  the  sand 
in  a  seemingly  endless  line,  and  was  utterly  uninhab- 
ited. On  the  right  hand  was  the  lagoon  and  the  Canal 
du  Midi,  and  beyond  the  lifted-up  villages  of  the 
mainland,  and  the  Cevenues  behind  them.  On  the 
left  the  Mediterranean  was  poimding  the  sand  and  the 


LA  BELLE  MAGUELONNE.  61 

clam-shells,  for  the  wind  had  been  blowing  some  days 
from  the  south  and  a  good  surf  was  on.  All  along, 
however,  the  sandy  ground  was  laid  out  in  vineyards, 
which  are  slightly  protected  from  the  breath  of  the 
sea  by  high  palisades  of  thickly-plaited  straw.  The 
vines  seemed  hardy  and  flourishing.  I  was  surprised 
to  find  the  grape  growing  on  such  a  mere  damp  sand- 
spit,  so  near  the  sea. 

With  a  fresh  breeze  and  a  sky  of  broken  flying 
clouds  and  the  dashing  of  the  sea,  the  walk  was  an  in- 
spiring one  and  did  not  seem  long,  although  enlivened 
by  no  company  except  some  black-winged  birds  that 
were  fishing  in  the  lagoon.  But  somehow  Maguelonne 
seemed  little  nearer  when  I  was  half  way  there  than 
when  I  started  on  the  level  road.  It  was  certainly  a 
long  three  miles. 

At  length,  however,  the  road  bent  to  the  right,  and 
I  crossed  a  narrow  channel  and  was  on  the  little  island. 
Still  no  inhabitants,  and  no  sign  of  life  except  the 
good  road  and  the  vine  culture.  I  entered  the  island, 
which  rises  twenty  or  thirty  feet  above  the  surround- 
ing morass,  through  a  pretty  avenue  of  pines,  which 
chiinged  as  I  came  upon  the  plateau  into  a  way  bor- 
dered by  low  hedges  of  roses  in  abimdant  flower. 
Everywhere  now  were  signs  of  culture  and  thrift. 
On  the  left  were  two  stone  magazines,  or  store-houses ;. 
and  on  the  right,  partially  hidden  by  the  pines  and 
half  overgrown  with  ivy,  was  the  old  church,  still  erect 
and  imposing,  although  its  towers  had  crumbled  and 
many  of  its  buttresses  were  tumbling  down.     I  had 


62      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

passed  at  the  entrance  of  the  grounds  a  large  crucifix 
among  the  pines.  This  symbol  is  never  far  away  from 
business,  or  work,  or  pleasure,  in  this  region.  Wo 
come  upon  it  unexpectedly  in  the  fields  and  highways, 
and  stepping  into  the  court  of  appeals  in  Montpellier, 
the  other  day,  it  hung  behind  the  bench  of  the  judges. 
Upon  the  roof  of  the  church  is  a  small  bell,  which  still 
calls  to  service  every  Sunday. 

On  the  left  of  the  church,  toward  the  sea,  are  the 
remains  of  a  chapel,  said  to  be  a  part  of  the  old  hos- 
pital, and  beyond  it,  close  to  the  water's  edge,  a  bit  of 
ruin  surmounted  by  an  image  of  the  Virgin,  or  some 
sea-saint. 

Close  to  the  church  and  partially  in  front  of  it  I 
found  the  farm-house,  a  neat,  cheap  "  chateau,"  where 
the  proprietor,  whose  capital  and  energy  have  re- 
claimed from  sandy  desolation  tliis  island,  lives  with 
his  family  in  the  summer.  A  part  of  it  is  occupied  by 
the  farmer.  Gardens  about  the  house,  and  near,  cid- 
tivated  fields  sloping  do^^^l  to  the  edge  of  the  water. 
Flowers  in  beds,  ivy  climbing  over  the  ruined  church- 
tower,  birds  flitting  about  the  vines  and  chattering  in 
the  sun,  and  the  soft  sea-air  swaying  the  roses  on  their 
stalks.  It  was  altogether  charming.  I  was  quite  un- 
prepared for  so  much  beauty  in  a  place  of  such  sad 
and  desolate  aspect  at  a  distance.  Perhaps  the  ro- 
mance of  La  Belle  Maguelonne  lent  something  attrac- 
tive to  the  scene ;  and  I  could  well  believe  that  her 
sweet  spirit  yet  dwells  there. 

Perhaps  it  is  a  question  if  she  had  a  sweet  spirit,  or 


LA   BELLE  MAGUELONNE.  63 

if  she  existed  there  any  more  than  Amy  Robsart  at 
Kenilworth.  I  confess  that  tho  grave  histories  of  the 
old  church  do  not  mention  her  ;  they  dwell  fondly  upon 
the  bishops  and  archbishops  and  canons  who  thought 
they  made  the  place  famous  by  living  there,  but  they 
are  silent  about  the  memory  of  this  fair  virgin,  wdiose 
name  gives  a  romantic  sentiment  to  all  this  coast.  Tho 
local  tradition  is,  however,  more  considerate,  and  it  is 
supported  by  the  remains  of  her  tomb  in  the  old  church 
—  a  tomb  of  white  marble.  La  Belle  Maguelonne  was 
not  a  recluse.  She  was  a  woman  of  the  world,  who 
enjoyed  the  world  and  her  own  beauty,  I  doubt  not. 
But  she  was  pious,  and  good  as  well  as  pious,  and  de- 
lighted in  charities  and  sweet  ministrations  to  the  sick 
and  the  unfortimate.  Why  should  not  beauty  go  with 
divine  goodness  and  self-sacrifice,  now  and  then  ?  It 
is  said  that  La  Belle  Maguelonne  thought  that  she 
should  never  lose  her  beauty,  and  never  grow  old,  and 
never  die.  I  scarcely  believe  this,  from  what  I  know 
of  this  sensible  woman.  But  perhaps  she  was  a  lovely 
"  perfectionist."  It  is  true,  however,  —  at  least  they  say 
so,  —  that  when  she  perceived  in  herself  some  premon- 
itions of  weakness  and  of  failing  she  had  prepared  for 
herself  a  white  marble  tomb,  under  which  she  might 
repose  in  sweet  peace  in  the  little  island  she  loved. 
This  is  so  much  like  the  calm  and  undismayed  spirit 
of  La  Belle  Maguelonne,  who,  in  the  romance,  after 
building  the  hospital  here  and  nursing  the  pilgrims,  at 
last  married  her  faithful  lover  and  went  to  assume  her 
birthright  as  Queen  of  Naples,  that  I  do  not  doubt  that 


64      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

they  were  one  and  the  same  pBrson,  and  that  the  poet 
of  the  eleventh  or  twelfth  century,  whoever  he  was, 
had  her  for  his  model  when  he  wrote  the  romance  of 
"  Pierre  de  Provence  et  la  Belle  de  Maguelonne." 

How  old  this  edifice  is  I  do  not  know,  but  there 
has  been  a  bishopric  here  and  a  church  ever  since 
the  third  centvtry.  It  was  in  the  old  warlike  times 
as  much  a  fortress  and  place  of  refuge  as  a  church. 
The  devoted  men  who  dwelt  here  were  prepared  to 
defend  it  against  the  roving  bands  of  plunderers 
from  the  main-land  and  against  the  corsairs  of  the 
sea.  Once  the  building  had  battlemented  walls,  and 
a  great  many  buildings  and  houses  were  grouped  about 
it.  Twelve  hundred  years  ago  its  warlike  bishojD  re- 
sisted the  assault  of  Wamba,  the  king  of  the  Visi- 
goths, but  was  finally  compelled  to  capitidate.  After 
that  the  Saracens,  who  ravaged  all  this  coast,  took  the 
island  and  fortified  it ;  and  they  in  turn  were  expelled 
by  Charles  Martel.  In  the  year  737  the  see  of  the 
bishop  was  transferred  to  Substantion,  for  the  bishop 
was  tired  of  continual  sieges  and  attacks.  In  1037  the 
good  Bishop  Arnaldus  set  up  the  see  again  there,  en- 
larged the  church,  repaired  the  causeway  to  the  main- 
land, deepened  the  port,  and  recalled  there  his  chai^ter 
and  his  vassals.  In  the  beginning  of  the  sLxteenth 
century  it  was  only  a  precarious  monastic  retreat,  and 
the  episcopacy,  when  Pius  III.  was  pope,  was  trans- 
ferred to  Montpcllier.  After  that  it  had  few  dwellers, 
who  languished  there  with  fever,  although  the  spot  was 
80  loved  that  noble  families  continued  to  bear  the  bod- 


LA  BELLE  MAGUELONNE.  65 

ies  of  their  dead  there  from  all  the  neighborhood,  as 
to  a  holy  ground,  to  inter  them.  Until  its  present 
proprietor  reduced  the  island  anew  to  cultivation,  I 
suppose  that  for  a  long  period  it  has  been  simply  one 
scene  of  ruins,  of  desolation,  swept  by  the  storms  of  the 
sea,  and  only  a  sad  historical  monument.  The  thrifty 
owner  has  swept  and  garnished  it,  and  made  of  it  a 
most  charming  oasis  in  this  waste  of  marsh  and  sand. 
The  church  has  become  again  a  sanctuary,  and  every 
Sunday  mass  is  said  here ;  though  where  the  congre- 
gation comes  from,  unless  the  departed  and  buried  of 
thirteen  centuries  are  present  at  the  ghostly  service,  I 
do  not  know. 

Over  the  small  portal  is  some  good  and  quaint  old 
carving  in  low  relief.  The  interior  is  unexpectedly 
large'  and  impressive.  Denuded  as  are  its  walls,  I  am 
not  sure  but  it  is  more  impressive  than  if  they  were 
hung  with  the  common  daubs  of  pictures  and  the  tinsel 
of  a  lo\dng  credulity.  It  has  a  nave  without  aisles, 
and  a  short  transept.  At  the  beginning  of  the  tran- 
sept a  circle  let  into  the  pavement  marks  the  place  of 
the  apse  in  the  time  of  Charles  Martel.  The  present 
apse  was  added  by  Bishop  Arnaldus  in  1037.  In  the 
pavement  of  the  choir  are  entombed  bishops  and  arch- 
bishops and  other  holy  men,  whose  worn  and  broken 
effigies  attest  the  long  time  they  have  lain  ther^,  In 
a  glass  case  in  the  transept  are  preserved  the  fekulls  of 
diarnitaries  and  men  of  note  which  were  exhumed  at 
some  time  when  the  pavement  was  repaired,  and  which 
belonged,  said  the  farmer's  wife  who  opened  the  church 


66      NOTES   OF  A   BOUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

for  me,  to  the  sixth  century.  Some  of  them  had  pre- 
served their  teeth.  I  did  not  recognize  in  the  case  the 
skull  of  La  Belle  Masruelonne.  I  am  sure  I  should 
have  luiown  her  if  she  had  been  there. 

The  church  has  one  architectural  peculiarity  in  what 
is  called  a  "  tribime."  A  considerable  portion  of  the 
nave  from  the  entrance  is  covered  by  a  roof  —  like  an 
oro-an  loft  extending;  far  out  into  the  church.  This 
roof  is  the  floor  of  a  large  apartment.  Ascending  to 
it  by  a  long  and  broad  staircase,  between  the  inner  and 
outer  walls,  I  found  a  spacious  room,  large  enough  for 
a  chapel,  and  commanding  a  view  of  the  choir  and  apse. 
This  was  the  tribune. 

Passing  out  of  this  room,  my  conductress  led  me  to 
the  roof  of  a  part  of  the  building  now  in  ruins,  a  plat- 
form inclosed  on  three  sides  by  high  walls  heavily 
draped  with  ivy,  and  vocal  with  the  twittering  of 
birds  ;  and  from  thence  by  a  steep,  narrow  stairway  to 
the  roof  of  the  great  building,  from  whence  all  the 
kingdoms  of  the  sea  and  part  of  the  land  were  spread 
out  before  me. 

Nothing  could  be  pleasanter  than  this  great  expanse 
of  water,  of  low  lands  fringed  with  villages,  and  this 
green,  peaceful  little  isle,  bathed  in  a  genial  stm  of 
November.  It  is,  however,  said  my  peasant  guide,  a 
pleasant  black-eyed  woman,  in  white  cap  and  apron,  — 
the  universal  costume  of  her  class,  —  very  cold  in  win- 
ter. It  is  bitter.  Ice  forms  in  the  lagoons.  Exactly 
how  cold  it  was  I  could  n't  make  out,  for  the  French 
zero,  which  is  our  tliirty-two  degrees  above,  is  a  fright- 


LA  BELLE  MAGUELONNE.  67 

fill  tiling  to  them.  I  told  the  good  woman  that  it  was 
also  cold  sometimes  in  America.  I  tried  to  explain  to 
her  about  Winnipeg,  and  Lancaster,  N.  H.,  and  sixty 
degrees  below  our  zero.  But  Winnipeg  failed  to  im- 
press her,  and  I  think  she  had  no  conception  of  cold 
weather.  The  French  thermometer  is  not  constructed, 
as  ours  is,  with  the  view  of  freezing  people  to  death. 
As  near  as  I  could  ascertain,  winter  in  Maguelonne 
is  like  some  of  our  most  severe  July  weather  in  New 
England,  when  we  have  to  cover  up  the  flowers  at 
night.  Still,  as  people  think  about  the  weather,  so  is 
it  with  them. 

When  I  came  away  I  had  permission  to  gather  as 
many  roses  from  the  wayside  as  I  pleased.  I  plucked 
literally  an  armful.  Anything  more  fragrant,  more 
splendid  in  color,  than  those  roses  I  do  not  know. 
They  were  as  large  and  fine  as  some  of  our  best  con- 
servatory varieties,  but,  blowing  about  freely  in  the 
salt  air,  they  had  a  touch  of  wildness  and  freedom 
in  them  that  made  them  fascinatiiio-.  In  g^eneral  color 
they  were  pink,  pink  of  many  shades ;  but  the  outer 
petals  were  dashed  with  a  deep  carmine,  ensanguined, 
brilliant,  as  if  stained  with  the  blood  of  priests  and 
warriors,  Goths  and  Saracens,  who  had  for  centuries 
contended  for  the  possession  of  this  little  isle  of  the 
sea. 

"  They  are,"  said  my  guide,  "roses  de  V Autome.''^ 
But  we  named  them  roses  de  La  Belle  3Iaguelonne. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MUNICH  TO   ORVIETO. 

This  Roundabout  Journey,  wlilcL  was  intended  to 
be  only  round-about  the  Mediterranean,  got  a  severe 
twist  in  December.  It  was  not  cboice  that  rapt  us  from 
the  sunshine  and  roses  of  the  land  of  La  Belle  Mague^ 
lonne,  through  the  fcomb-like  dam^^s  of  Switzerland  into 
the  fogs  of  Munich,  in  the  darkest  month  of  the  year. 
Nor  was  it  curiosity  to  test  the  vaunted  geniality  of  a 
Vevay  winter.  I  could  defend  Munich,  which  is  in  the 
foggy  season  of  December  mild  compared  with  Paris 
or  New  England,  but  the  defense  of  Vevay  must  be 
left  to  those  who  like  an  atmosphere  surcharged  with 
moisture  that  chills  through  bone  and  marrow.  It  was 
Providence  that  gave  us  in  those  dark  days  the  con- 
certs at  the  Odeon  and  Clara  Schumann  instead  of  the 
palms  of  Palermo. 

It  must  have  been  about  the  10th  of  January  that 
1  left  the  city  of  the  little  monk,  for  it  was  after  the 
festival  of  the  Three  Holy  Kings.  And  very  lucky  it 
was  that  I  waited,  before  setting  out  on  my  journey,  for 
the  blessing  of  Caspar,  Melchior,  and  Baltliasar.  The 
day  of  the  "  HI.  3.  Kouige  "  is  January  Gth,  but  for 
some  days  thereafter  the  priests  go  about  with  holy 


MUNICH  TO  ORVIETO.  69 

water  and  censer,  to  any  house  where  their  presence  is 
desired,  and  pvirify  and  bless  it  for  a  year.  We  were 
sitting  at  dinner  when  two  priests  in  fidl  splendor  of 
canonicals  knocked  and  begged  pardon  for  entering. 
One  of  them  swung  the  censor  until  the  room  was  that 
holy  with  frankincense  that  we  could  hardly  breathe  in 
it,  and  the  other  sprinkled  it  with  holy  water,  and  then 
with  a  piece  of  white  chalk  wrote  over  the  door  the 
date  and  the  letters,  "  18  C.  M.  B.  82 ;  "  only  he  made 
a  monogram  of  the  letters  and  chalked  above  each  one 
the  cross.  Every  bedroom  and  apartment  in  the  house 
was  entered  and  fumigated  in  the  same  manner,  and 
over  every  door  was  written  the  mysterious  monogram. 
The  priests  were  sent  by  the  landlord  of  the  house,  at 
no  expense  to  the  tenants ;  end  I  am  bound  to  say  that 
they  went  through  their  task  with  perfect  gravity. 
After  they  had  departed,  with  a  final  swing  of  the 
censor  my  Catholic  friends  opened  doors  and  v.dndows, 
to  get  rid  of  the  stifling  fumes  ;  but  the  challii  marks 
over  the  doors,  they  laughingly  said,  should  remain, 
and  that  for  a  year  we  should  be  safe  under  the  pro- 
tection of  Caspar,  Melchior,  and  Balthasar. 

Under  the  guidance  of  these  three  great  travelers, 
—  I  need  not  mention  that  one  ought  to  do  very  well 
with  three  kings,  —  I  left  the  fog  of  Munich  and  came 
safely  into  the  clear  and  scarcely  colder  air  of  Inns- 
bruck. This  picturesque  and  painted  mediaeval  town 
is  particularly  attractive  in  winter,  when  the  steep 
peaks  that  stand  about  it  are  dusted  with  snow,  and 
peak  and  swift  river  sparkle  and  dance  in  the  sunshine. 


70      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

Everybody  stops  over  a  day  in  Innsbruck  to  see  the 
wonderful  tomb  of  Maximilian  in  tlie  old  cliurcb,  and 
no  monument  is  better  known  by  pliotograpks  and  de- 
scriptions. Indeed,  there  are  fewer  more  impressive 
sights  than  the  twenty-six  heroic  bronze  figures  of  kings 
and  queens,  in  the  sumptuousness  of  armor  and  royal 
garments  of  state,  standing  motionless  about  this  splen- 
did tomb.  Nor  do  I  know  anything  in  ivory  carving 
superior  to  the  panels  of  the  tomb  itself,  each  illustrat- 
ing some  scene  in  the  fighting  life  of  the  hero,  who  pro- 
vided for  his  remembrance  better  than  any  long-headed 
Pharaoh  who  hid  his  mummy  m  a  decorated  rock 
mausoleum.  Nobody  else  has  for  sentinels  about  his 
resting  place  the  proudest  kings  and  queens  of  the 
world.  The  only  fault  the  traveler  finds  with  the  sit- 
uation is  that  the  church  is  not  large  enough  or  fine 
enough  for  the  jewel  it  contains.  There  is  an  incon- 
gruity in  the  spectacle  and  its  inclosure.  The  tomb 
and  the  heroic  attendants  dwarf  the  edifice,  and  you 
feel  that  this  is  only  a  temporary  store-house  for  a 
great  work  of  art  that  should  have  a  majestic  setting. 

I  lodged  at  the  Goldern  Adler,  an  ancient  inn,  as 
famous  in  its  way  as  the  Tomb.  I  went  there  because 
Goethe  and  Heine  stayed  there  when  they  were  on  their 
sentimental  and  satirical  pilgrimages.  I  was  shown 
into  a  large  chamber,  having  two  beds  and  a  gigantic 
porcelain  stove  and  only  one  window,  but  that  one 
looked,  between  angular  roofs  and  corners  of  narrow 
streets,  upon  the  iron  bridge  over  the  river  Inn.  It 
was  a  comfort  to  know  that  Ileiae's  room  was  next 


L«s  Aflfeks,  Cai. 

MUNICH   TO   ORVIETO.  71 

mine,  and  that  Goethe's  was  opposite.  The  hitter  is 
large,  and  has  three  cheerful  windows,  looking  dowTi 
into  the  picturesque  streets,  which  in  this  part  of  the 
city  have  not  been  changed  since  the  resolute  hotel- 
keeper,  Andreas  Hofer,  here  incited  the  sharp-shooters 
of  the  Tyrol  to  make  head  on  the  Austrian  side  against 
Napoleon.  We  do  not  commonly  associate  heroic  com*- 
age  —  except  in  the  matter  of  charges  — with  an  inn- 
keeper, but  in  the  Tyrol  the  keeper  of  a  Wirth-house, 
or  inn  where  beer  is  more  in  demand  than  beds,  is  the 
most  important  person  in  the  village.  It  requires  res- 
olution and  courage  as  well  as  tact  to  manage  the  brutal 
peasants,  who  are  quite  ready,  under  the  ennobling  in- 
fluence of  beer,  to  whip  out  a  knife,  in  the  pause  of  the 
dance,  to  contest  the  possession  of  a  comely  and  solid 
senneinn,  or  Alp-girl.  These  stalwart  maidens,  who 
pass  the  summer  months  alone  on  a  high  Alp,  in  a  sol- 
itary hut,  tending  the  feeding  cows  and  doing  the  milk- 
ing and  butter-making  and  all  the  stable  work  with 
their  own  broad  hands,  are  quite  able  to  take  a  refrac- 
tory bull  by  the  horns  and  teach  him  manners.  I  have 
read  that  in  a  peasant  dance  —  which  woidd  not  be  a 
holiday  pastime  for  a  "  leader  of  the  German,"  one  of 
our  gilded  youths  —  a  semierin  will  catch  her  stout  and 
heavy  swain  by  the  waistband,  while  he  puts  his  hands 
on  her  shoulders,  throw  him  aloft  till  his  heels  strike 
the  ceiling,  where  they  continue  on  the  boards  the  lively 
rat-tat-too  of  the  dance,  the  girl  meantime  continuing 
her  round,  with  her  lover  in  the  air,  and  never  missing 
a  step  dictated  by  the  jig  of  the  fiddle.     Such  a  woman 


72      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

as  this  is  evidently  worth  fighting  for,  and  is  only  to 
be  won  by  the  strong  hand  and  the  craft  of  the  cham- 
pion chamois  hunter.  The  control  of  a  crowd  of  this 
description,  on  merriment  and  deviltry  inclined,  is  no 
sinecure,  and  tlie  inn-keeper,  if  he  would  not  have  his 
house  come  down  about  liis  head,  must  be  a  man  of 
force  and  courage.  Hofer  had  ample  training  in  the 
mastery  of  men  before  he  became  a  leader  of  them  in 
the  field. 

I  told  my  landlady  that  for  some  literary  and  senti- 
mental reasons  I  should  have  preferred  to  lodge  in  the 
chamber  of  the  great  German  poet.  But  she,  having 
no  doubt  divined  my  republican  predilections,  said,  — • 
"  But  you  have  the  chamber  once  occupied  by  the  Em- 
peror Joseph  II.  In  this  very  room  he  slci:)t  on  the 
nights  of  the  29th,  30th,  and  31st  of  July,  1777,  and 
here  he  gave  audience  to  his  officers." 

That  was  enough,  I  humbly  said,  as  I  looked  about 
the  bare  but  transfigured  apartments.  What  am  I  that 
I  should  not  be  content  with  an  emperor's  bed,  if  the 
sheets  have  been  changed  ?  We  must  all,  one  day,  — 
for  has  not  the  poet  Bryant,  not  to  mention  the  psalm- 
ist, said  it  ?  —  sleep  with  the  kings  and  princes  of  this 
earth,  and  why  not  lie  with  an  emperor  now ! 

Yes,  I  said,  the  Emperor  Joseph  will  do,  since  I  can- 
not have  Goethe,  and  I  shall  have  a  kindlier  feeling 
for  the  Hapsburgs  ever  after.  "Besides,"  said  the 
landlady,  with  growing  pride,  "  in  the  chamber  above 
you  lodged  Andreas  Hofer,  and  it  was  from  the  win- 
dow above  youis  that  he  harangued  the  populace  on 
the  15th  of  August,  1809." 


MUNICH  TO   ORVIETO.  T3 

That  was  just  "before  Hofer  set  out  for  Italy,  and 
just  about  a  year  before  Napoleon,  who  always  knew 
how  to  pick  out  the  best  men,  had  the  patriot  shot  at 
Mantua. 

I  revolved  these  things  in  my  mind  as  I  lay  in  my 
imperial  couch,  —  too  short  at  both  ends,  —  becoming 
gradually  conscious  of  the  heavy  weight  of  dignity 
put  upon  me,  and  wondering  whether  the  Great  Jo- 
seph had  the  heroic  patience  7iot  to  do  as  I  did :  kick 
into  the  middle  of  the  room  the  vast  and  fluffy  feather- 
bed under  which  I  was  sweltering,  vast,  and  yet,  as 
Mrs.  Browning  says,  "  too  scant  to  cover  doom." 

It  was,  after  all,  a  heroic  place  to  sleep  in,  if  only 
good  sleep  could  make  a  hero  or  a  poet.  Heine  on 
one  side,  Goethe  on  the  other,  Andreas  Hofer  over- 
head, and  the  ghost  of  the  Kaiser  in  the  room !  What 
Andreas  Hofer  said  to  the  excited  crowd  on  that 
memorable  15th  day  of  August,  1809,  at  12  o'clock 
noon,  out  of  the  window  above,  was  not  running  in 
my  head,  because  it  was  said  in  an  antique  Tja-olean 
dialect  that  can  run  in  no  foreigner's  head.  But 
roughly  translated,  it  was  this :  — 

"God  bless  you,  my  dear  Inspruckers  \_Gruess 
enck  Gottmeinelieh'n  /S'&r«c^'er],  that  you  have  chosen 
me  for  your  general ;  and  here  accordingly  I  am. 
And  there  are  many  here  who  are  not  Inspruckers. 
AU  who  are  wiUins:  to  be  soldiers  under  me  must 
fight  for  God,  the  Emperor,  and  their  Fatherland,  as 
brave,  honest,  and  good  Tyroleans,  if  they  wish  to  be 
brethren  in  the  fight ;  and  those  who  will  not  do  so 


74      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

may  now  return  home.  I  counsel  you  and  all  wlio 
may  accompany  me  that  you  will  not  forsake  my  ban- 
ner ;  and  I  never  will  forsake  you,  so  sure  as  my  name 
is  Andreas  Hofer.  Now  I  have  said  it,  and  you  have 
seen  for  yourselves.     God  preserve  you  !  " 

I  cannot  ask  the  reader  to  stop  with  me  at  Meran, 
that  sheltered  nest  in  the  Tyrol,  a  bright  and  archi- 
tecturally most  picturesque  whiter  hot-bed  of  gossip 
and  invalids,  surrounded  by  snow  mountains  and  senti- 
neled by  castles ;  nor  in  Florence,  sparkling  under  the 
blue  sky,  warm  in  the  sun  and  chill  in  the  shade.  I 
had  many  times  desired  to  have  a  day  in  queer  Orvieto; 
not  on  account  of  its  golden  wine,  but  to  see  the  most 
brilliantly  ornamented  cathedral  facade  in  Europe. 
And  now  the  direct  through  line  from  Florence  to 
Kome  permits  one  to  do  so.  Still,  it  is  not  a  conven- 
ient stopping-place  in  winter.  The  station  of  Orvieto 
is  not  attractive,  even  v/ith  its  composite  restaurant, 
kitchen,  and  bric-a-brac  shop,  where  you  can  buy  sau- 
sage, wine,  chunks  of  meat  and  bread,  vases,  jars  and 
tear-bottles  from  the  near  Etruscan  tombs,  and  yellow 
majolica,  warranted  just  as  good  as  the  antique,  in  ap- 
pearance. I  was  put  into  a  shaclding,  decayed,  ante- 
diluvian carriage  with  two  horses,  and  dragged  for 
over  an  hour  up  the  steep  liill  by  a  winding  road  that 
seemed  endless.  Brown  and  desolate  looked  all  the 
winter  landscape,  and  more  and  more  desolate  as  we 
rose,  and  tlic  view  widened  over  barren  hills  and  col- 
orless valleys.  No  city  was  in  sight  till  we  actually 
passed  the  gate  and  entered  it,  on  the  very  crest  of  the 


MUNICH  TO  OR VI Era.  75 

liill.  The  wind  sweeps  it  in  tireless  fury,  and  goes 
marauding  through  the  narrow  streets,  searching  out 
the  weak  points  in  the  traveler's  raiment. 

I  cannot  say  what  this  dead  and  mediaeval  town  is 
like.  It  is  full  of  architectural  surjjrises.  You  may 
wander  about,  up  hill  and  down,  lose  yourself  in  an- 
gles and  corners  and  stony  lanes,  and  get  little  idea  of 
it.  You  seem  to  be  nowhere,  for  the  cliief  streets  are 
little  more  than  lanes  with  blank  walls  on  either  side, 
with  here  and  there  a  dark  hole  or  archway  in  the 
wall,  which  is  a  shop ;  and  yet  there  is  every  now  and 
then  a  bewitching  arcliitectural  glimpse,  and  the  de- 
cayed old  town  has  an  indescribable  charm. 

The  best  description  I  know  of  the  cathedral  is 
Mr.  Charles  Eliot  Norton's  study  of  the  building  of 
it.  The  edifice  is  vast,  and  inside  and  out  in  process 
of  restoration.  Within  are,  however,  still  many  deli- 
cious ancient  mosaics  of  scriptural  scenes.  The  whole 
front  blazes  with  biblical  history.  This  edifice,  like 
that  of  Siena,  is  built  of  black  and  white  marble,  and 
like  that  it  has  many  a  scriptural  story  and  scene  of 
judgment  and  retribution  carved  in  stone.  But  what 
distino-uishes  it  from  all  others,  and  makes  it  worth  a 
long  pilgrimage  to  see,  are  the  pictures  in  brilliant 
mosaics  which  cover  nearly  the  whole  fagade.  If  you 
want  to  know  what  they  are,  I  can  only  say,  "  Go  read 
your  Bible  through."  But  you  can  hardly  imagine 
how  they  glow  and  sparkle  in  the  southern  sun. 

There  is  also  at  Orvieto  an  interesting  museum  of 
Etruscan  antiquities,  and  there  are  Etruscan  tombs, 


76  NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

attractive  to  the  antiquary  —  but  I  will  not  take  my 
reader  nnderground. 

I  lodged  in  the  hotel  Belle  Arte.  It  is  a  splendid 
old  palace,  and  a  cold  old  palace.  I  think  the  original 
inhabitants  must  have  been  frozen  out  of  it.  It  would 
make  a  good  ice-house  in  summer,  and  I  do  not  sup- 
pose it  was  ever  warm,  since  its  thick  walls  shut  out 
the  sun.  .  It  has  a  noble  dining-room,  the  ancient  fam- 
ily hall,  with  some  tolerable  paintings  on  the  walls, 
and  its  high  vaulted  ceilings  frescoed  so  brilliantly 
that  the  room  had  a  sort  of  glow  of  warmth.  If  there 
were  only  warmth  in  color  we  should  have  been  com- 
fortable. 

There  were  only  three  of  us  at  tahle  cVhote^  mere 
specks  at  the  long  table  in  that  vast  apartment ;  the 
two  others  were  a  handsome  German  and  his  hand- 
somer bride,  who  were  kept  from  shivering,  I  presume, 
by  the  internal  warmth  there  is  in  a  honeymoon. 
There  were  only  three  of  us,  but  the  ceremony  of  tahle 
(Vhdte  went  on  with  all  the  solemn  and  slow  majesty 
that  characterizes  that  great  European  ritual.  It 
needed  all  the  bottled  sunshine  in  the  golden  Orvieto 
wine  to  keep  it  from  being  funereal.  At  the  end  of 
the  hall  a  wood  fire  glimmered  in  an  open  stove.  It 
had  about  as  much  effect  on  the  temperature  of  the 
apartment  as  a  lantern  would  have  on  the  air  of  Bush- 
ncll  Park  on  a  windy,  wintry  night. 

My  chamber  was  not  as  large  as  the  dining  hall, 
but  it  was  no  less  brilliant.  It  never  was  warmed, 
and  there  is  no  method  of  heating  it.     It  is  an  in- 


MUNICH  TO  ORVIETO.  77 

structive  room,  to  a  vacant  mind  ;  tlie  vaulted  roof  is 
a  picture  gallery,  but  it  is  severely  instructive.  No 
Cupids  and  Venuses  and  little  lovers  and  graces  float- 
ing about  in  this  chill  and  virtuous  sky.  But  in  the 
corners  of  the  ceiling  there  are  portraits  of  Plato  and 
Herodotus  and  Homer,  and  another  sage  whose  name 
I  cannot  recall ;  and  in  the  medallions  overhead  you 
see  Poetry  and  History  and  Philosophy  and  Religion. 
There  is  nothing  warming  in  painted  philosophy  and 
religion,  and  I  would  gladly  have  exchanged  the  col- 
ored consolation  of  both  for  a  warming-pan.  I  jumped 
into  bed  without  much  ceremony  —  and  let  no  Early 
Clu'istian  rebuke  my  haste  —  where  my  teeth  played 
a  tune  like  the  castanets  of  a  dancing-girl. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

PALERMO. 

Palermo  is  the  best  dressed  city  in  Soutliern  Italy. 
It  is  also  the  cleanest ;  as  clean  as  the  best  parts  of 
Paris,  and,  for  that  matter,  cleaner  than  any  in  the 
United  States.  It  is  a  cheerful,  spick-and-si3an  city, 
and  the  gilded  you^h  dress  up  to  it.  I  have  nowhere 
else  seen  more  attention  to  style  and  clothes,  and  no- 
where else  a  more  bright  aspect  of  modern  life.  Even 
the  narrow  and  by-streets  are  neat,  and  I  was  told  that 
the  municipality  pays  something-  for  every  pan  of  refuse 
collected  by  scavengers.  Whether  this  is  so  or  not,  the 
result  is  agreeable.  But  then  the  streets  are  superbly 
paved  with  stone  and  capable  of  being  easily  cleaned. 

Palermo  is  also  lively  and  patriotic  and  republican. 
Garibaldi  is  the  idol  of  the  populace,  and  cheap  liberal 
newspapers  abound.  One  of  the  principal  boulevards 
is  the  Strada  Lincoln,  and  there  is  a  cafe  Lincoln, 
with  a  portrait  of  "  Honest  Abe  "  over  the  door.  Our 
martyred  President  is  popular  in  Sicily,  and  there  is 
another  long  and  important  street  named  for  him  in 
Catania.  This  is  to  say  that  in  the  public  aiiprchon- 
sion  he  represents  "liberty"  for  the  mercurial  Sicil- 
ians. 


PALERMO.  79 

As  we  arrive  here  in  March,  the  town  is  already  in 
active  prei^aration  for  the  celebration  of  the  sixth  cen- 
tenary of  the  "  Sicilian  Vespers,"  and  peculiar  signifi- 
cance is  given  to  it  this  time  by  a  revival  of  the  an- 
cient hostility  to  the  French,  caused  by  the  grasping 
occupation  of  Tunis.  It  is  supposed  that  it  needs  but 
a  spark  to  produce  an  outbiu-st  against  the  French 
residents,  and  many  of  them  are  leaving  the  city  to  be 
<j^ut  of  the  way  of  the  celebration,  which  begins  on  Fri- 
day, the  31st.  A  medal  has  been  struck  in  remem- 
brance of  the  event,  books  and  illustrated  papers  are 
published  telling  the  story,  and  pictures  are  exhibited 
in  the  shop  windows.  One  of  them  represents  the 
scene  in  the  old  public  promenade  outside  the  Porta 
Nuova,  which  was  the  immediata  cause  of  the  out- 
break. You  remember  that  on  the  evening  of  March 
31, 1282,  —  Easter  Eve,  —  the  inhabitants  of  Palermo 
were  amusing  themselves  dancing  and  playing  games 
in  the  gardens,  and  mingled  with  them  were  a  number 
of  the  French  officers  and  soldiers,  who  were  already 
odious  to  the  people,  from  their  insolent  and  libertine 
manners.  The  public  mind  had  been  inflamed  by  the 
petty  tyranny  and  hostility  of  the  French  conqueror, 
and  especially  by  the  murder  of  Conradin.  Among 
the  promenaders  enjoying  the  refreshing  air  was  a 
beautifvd  and  noble  lady  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her 
husband.  Under  pretense  of  searching  for  concealed 
weapons,  a  French  officer  approached  her,  and  seizing 
her  offered  the  grossest  insult.  The  husband  of  course 
interfered,  and  a  young  Sicilian,  the  lover,  or  at  least 


80      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

the  admirer,  of  tlie  lady,  drew  liis  sword  and  ran  the 
officer  throusjh.     A  terrible  tumult  at  once  ensued, 
and  it  did  not  cease  till  every  Frenchman   on  the 
ground,  two  himdred  in  all,  was  slain.    The  flame  thus 
kindled  spread  throughout  the  city,  and  the  massacre 
continued  until  two  thousand  French  were  slain, — 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  whose  speech  betrayed 
French  nationality.     The  v/hole  island  was  involved 
until  the  French  were  all  slain  or  hunted  out  of  it. 
The  lady  who  was  ifirst  insulted  was,  with  others,  on 
her  way  to  vespers,  and  the  massacre  took  its  name 
from  this  fact.     But  a  single  libertine  incident  would 
not  have  caused  the  fierce  outbreak,  if  the  people  had 
not  already  been  exasperated  beyond  endurance  by  the 
imbridled  license  of  the  French  tyrants  and  by  deeper 
political  reasons.     It  is  easy  to  see  that  such  memo- 
ries of  French  insolence  and  rapacity  are  heated  anew 
by  the  present  improvoked   raid  upon   Tunis,  which 
the  Sicilians  have  always  regarded  with  friendly  eyes. 
Palermo  is  too  modern  and  clean  to  be  of  absorbing 
interest  to  the  searcher  after  the  picturesque,  but  for 
all  that  it  has  some  mediaeval  and  Saracenic  remains, 
and  enough  to  keep  the  sight-seers  busy  for  three  or 
four  days.     The  harbor,  which  opens  to  the  north  and 
has  an  artificial  breakwater,  is  very  pretty.     On  one 
side  rises  the  rocky  height  of  Monte  Pellegrino,  and 
on  the  other  a  bold,  rocky  cape  curves  round  with  a 
sheltering  arm.     The  town  lies  on  the  plain,  which 
extends  far  back  of  it,  and  is  exceedingly  fertile.     It 
is  encircled  by  lofty  bare  limestone  hills.     The  town, 


PALERMO.  81 

as  I  have  intimated,  is  altogether  modern,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  buildings,  and  it  has  more  bad 
statuary  in  it  than  Boston.  I  am  not  going  to  trouble 
the  reader  with  details  of  the  "  sights,"  for  it  is  quite 
impossible  to  bring  them  before  the  reader  by  any  de- 
scription, and  he  would  probably  skip  any  descriptions 
I  wrote. 

The  most  imposing  building  is  the  cathedral,  a  vast 
edifice  of  a  mixed  construction,  parts  of  it  dating  from 
1169.  It  has  many  charming  details,  especially  what 
may  be  called  Moorish  or  Sicilian  Gothic,  and  in  the 
interesting  interior  are  four  superb  sarcophagi  in  por- 
phyry, of  Sicilian  kings,  Roger,  his  daughter  Con- 
stance, Henry  VI.,  and  Frederick  IL,  all  before  1250. 
I  have  a  great  respect  for  an  old  king,  buried. 

But  the  treasure  of  the  cathedral  (called  the  church 
Ste.  Rosalia)  is  the  petrified  body  of  Ste.  Rosalia,  the 
patron  saint  of  Palermo.  I  did  not  see  her,  but  from 
what  I  have  heard  she  was  a  beautiful  girl ;  and  indeed 
if  the  marble  effigy  of  her  in  the  grotto  on  Monte 
Pellegrino  is  her  image,  she  was  a  fascinating  woman. 
But  unlike  most  of  the  beauties  of  antiquity  she  was 
devout  while  she  was  young  and  beautiful.  It  is  too 
often  the  case  that  devotion  only  sets  in  with  the  decay 
of  personal  beauty  and  charm.  The  story  is  that  this 
lovely  daughter  of  William  II.  (the  Good,  who  died 
in  1189)  retired  in  all  the  bloom  of  her  maidenly 
charms  to  Monte  Pellegrino,  and  immured  herself  in 
a  cavern  on  those  sterile  and  lonesome  heights,  from 
pure  motives  of  piety.     Sweet  and  lovely  as  she  was, 


82      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

her  cliarms  seem  to  liave  been  forgotten  for  nearly 
four  centuries,  when  a  hunter  accidentally  discovered 
her  petrified  body  in  a  recess  of  the  rocks.  The 
plague  was  at  that  time  (1664)  prevailing  in  Palermo, 
as  it  was  about  the  same  date  in  London.  But  the 
body  of  the  fair  saint,  brought  to  the  city,  stayed  the 
pestilence  by  its  gracious  presence,  and  she  became 
the  patron  saint  of  the  town. 

Needless  to  say  that  we  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
grotto  on  the  mountain  where  she  lived  and  died.  A 
magnificent  road  of  solid  masonry,  broad  and  of  easy 
grade,  has  been  constructed  to  it,  zigzagging  up  the 
mountain,  and  once  a  year  all  Palermo  goes  with  ban- 
ners and  music  and  holy  procession  up  this  highway 
to  the  chapel  over  the  grotto  of  the  pretty  and  la- 
mented virgin.  It  is  a  very  damp  and  dripping 
grotto,  but  the  shrine  is  enriched  with  precious  mar- 
bles and  pious  gifts  of  value.  In  front  of  the  deco- 
rated cavern,  where  the  holy  maiden  prayed  for  the 
sinful  world,  is  a  recumbent  statue  of  her,  in  gorgeous 
gilded  robes.  It  is  a  gracious  and  lovely  work,  and 
so  life-like  and  en2:aQ:in2:  is  the  face  that  it  seems 
sleep  rather  than  death  that  has  been  counterfeited  by 
the  Florentine  artist.  The  chapel  overlooks  a  bleak 
little  hollow  in  the  mountains,  a  basin  of  stones,  and 
is  the  most  desolate  place  that  ever  early  piety  throve 
in,  or  ever  the  seed  of  the  church  ripened  in. 

From  the  rocks  above  it  you  have  a  magnificent 
view  of  the  bay  and  the  city,  and  you  look  down  upon 
the  flat  plain  which  cuts  off  Monte  Pellegrino  from 


PALERMO.  83 

the  range  of  mountains,  upon  the  Conea  d'Oro,  a 
golden  valley  strewn  with  handsome  villas  and  gar- 
dens. On  this  ever  desolate  mountain  of  rock,  where 
it  must  be  a  persevering  goat  who  can  live,  forests 
once  grew,  and  here  Hamilear  settled  with  his  family 
and  troops,  and  raised  grain,  in  his  war  with  the  Ro- 
mans, a  couple  of  centuries  before  our  era.  But  the 
Carthaginian  has  vanished  and  left  no  mark,  while  a 
weak  Christian  maiden,  by  the  simple  act  of  dymg  in 
discomfort  and  devotion,  has  consecrated  the  whole 
mountain  to  her  memory. 

The  gem  of  the  city  of  Palermo,  however,  and  a 
gem  worth  a  long  journey  to  see,  is  the  Cappella  Pala- 
tina,  in  the  old  royal  palace,  a  building  of  Saracen 
origin.  This  rich  chapel,  which  is,  I  suppose,  of  Nor- 
man-Saracenic style,  is  full  of  Oriental  and  Moorish 
feeling.  This  appears  not  only  in  the  Saracenic  ceil- 
ings and  capitals,  but  in  the  mosaics  which  ornament 
pillars  and  panels.  Nothing  richer  or  more  exquisite 
can  the  traveler  see.  The  whole  interior  is  a  mass  of 
subdued  but  rich  color,  and  excites  a  feeling  of  most 
tranquil  pleasure.  Its  harmony  is  that  of  a  perfect 
sonata.  The  details  are  no  less  satisfactory  than  the 
general  effect.  The  entire  walls  and  space  between 
the  Arabian  pointed  arches  are  covered  with  gorgeous 
mosaics  on  a  gold  ground,  quaint  scenes  from  the  Old 
and  the  New  Testaments,  many  of  them  ludicrous,  but 
all  pervaded  with  sincere  feeling,  and  positively  daz- 
zling in  Oriental  splendor.  I  spent  nearly  half  a  day 
in  the  little  chapel,  and  the  magic  of  its  beauty  and 


84      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

harmony  so  won  upon  me  that  I  thought  that  it  was 
the  most  beautiful  chapel  in  the  world.  Except  at 
Ravenna  I  know  no  Byzantine  mosaics,  or  mosaics  of 
any  sort,  comparable  in  interest  with  these  and  their 
companion  works  and  perhaps  originals  at  Monreale. 
The  cathedral  of  Monreale,  in  the  village  of  that 
name  on  the  mountain  side,  is  less  than  five  miles 
from  the  city  of  Palermo.  It  and  the  road  up  to  it 
are  in  plain  view  from  the  city  gate,  and  yet  until 
recently  it  was  the  most  dangerous  road  on  account  of 
brigands.  Troops  are  now  stationed  along  the  road 
all  the  way  up.  A  couple  of  weeks  ago,  the  stage 
going  above  Monreale  to  S.  Martino  was  stopped  and 
robbed  by  so-called  brigands,  and  the  driver  was 
killed.  The  "  brigands "  were  inhabitants  of  clean 
Palermo.  A  few  days  ago,  also,  a  gentleman  and  lady 
going  up  Monte  Pellegrino,  in  sight  of  the  city,  were 
stripped  of  all  their  valuables  by  a  couple  of  foot- 
pads. The  robbers  were,  however,  arrested,  and  the 
jewelry  and  money  were  recovered.  These  are  excep- 
tional cases.  Brigandage  is  really  about  at  an  end  in 
Sicily.  The  organization  of  the  brigands  is  broken 
up,  and  they  are  discouraged.  My  own  explanation 
of  the  change,  however,  is  that  the  brigands  have 
gone  to  keeping  the  hotels  in  Sicily,  and  take  it  out 
of  the  travelers  in  a  legal  but  more  thorough  manner. 
I  might  as  well  say  here,  from  considerable  experience 
in  Sicilian  hotels,  that  they  are  on  their  way  to  be 
first-class.  Their  prices  are  already  first-rate.  They 
have  only  to  raise  the  accommodation,  the  food,  and 


PALERMO.  85 

attendance  np  to  tlie  prices,  and  they  will  be  all  right. 
The  lantUords  have  simply  begun  at  the  wrong  end. 
The  four  robbers  of  the  stage  coach  I  saw  afterwards 
at  Girgenti.  They  had  been  arrested  by  the  gen- 
darmes^ and  were  led  along  handcuffed ;  and  four 
meeker,  more  stupid-looking  highwaymen  I  never 
saw  —  off  the  stage. 

The  cathedral  of  Monreale,  w^hich  originated  in 
the  twelfth  century,  is  a  Latin  cross,  three  hundred 
and  thirty-three  feet  long,  a  hundred  and  tliirty-one 
feet  wide,  has  three  apses,  and  is  flanked  by  two  im- 
posing square  towers.  The  whole  interior  walls  of  this 
vast  building  are  covered  with  magnificent  mosaics  — 
the  gTiide-book  says  there  are  70,400  square  feet  of 
them.  The  mosaics  run  round  the  walls  in  three 
classes:  the  stories  of  the  Old  Testament,  beginning 
wdth  the  creation;  the  life  of  Christ;  and  scenes  in 
the  lives  of  saints.  The  splendor  of  this  interior  is 
unrivaled,  and  the  details  of  the  mosaics,  in  quaint 
simplicity,  siu'pass  all  flights  of  the  modern  imagina- 
tion. Adjoining  the  church  are  cloisters,  which  are 
very  large  and  also  of  remarkable  beauty.  There  are 
two  hundred  and  sixteen  colmnns  in  pairs,  slender 
columns,  in  varied  graceful  Saracenic  designs ;  all 
the  capitals  are  different,  and  the  mosaics  remaining 
in  the  arches  are  exquisite.  Wherever  the  Saracens 
have  made  an  impress  in  Europe,  it  has  been  one  of 
beauty,  a  charm  that  lingers  to  fill  us  with  regret. 
The  bewitching  grace  of  Moorish  architecture  —  for 
to  the  Saracenic  teaching  I  think  the  Norman  remains 


86      NOTES  OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

in  Sicily  owe  their  fascination  —  is  one  of  the  chief 
delights  of  this  battleground  of  the  classic  and  the 
mediaeval  world. 

There  is  one  curiosity  of  Palermo  ahout  which  I 
hesitate  to  disturb  the  reader.  If  he  were  to  see  it, 
and  let  his  mind  dwell  on  it,  he  probably  woidd  not 
sleep  for  a  week  afterward.  Of  all  the  fantastic, 
ghastly,  and  sportive  dealings  with  poor  mortality  that 
I  have  seen  in  my  short  pilgrimage,  the  convent  of 
the  Cappuccini  furnishes  the  most  astonishing.  In 
seeing  it  I  had  a  new  revelation  of  the  capacities  of 
hmnan  nature  for  indulgence  in  the  horrible  and  the 
grotesque.  From  the  convent  we  descended  into  the 
subterranean  corridors,  where  are  exposed,  not  buried, 
the  dried  remains  of  wealthy  inhabitants  of  Palermo. 
These  corridors,  of  which  there  are  several,  are  arched, 
broad,  well  lighted,  and  I  should  think  each  a  couple 
of  hundred  feet  long.  The  air  in  them  is  dry  and 
ajDparently  salubrious,  and  one  might  walk  through 
these  wide  aisles  of  death  in  comfort  if  he  were  blind. 
On  each  side  of  these  passages  are  long  boxes,  piled 
one  upon  the  other;  not  coffins,  but  boxes,  sometimes 
with  brass  nails,  and  looking  not  unlike  old-fashioned 
hair  trunks.  You  might  imagine  yourself  in  an  emi- 
grant's baggage-room  on  a  steamer,  but  for  some  other 
thimrs  in  the  corridors.  Each  of  these  boxes  contains 
a  dead  person.  The  occupants  of  part  of  them,  which 
have  glass  fronts,  are  visible.  There  they  lie  grinning 
in  arrested  decay,  with  just  enougli  dried  skin  and  flesh 
on  the  bones  to  preserve  the  semblance  of  humanity. 


PALERMO.  87 

The  poor  desiccatecl  bodies  have  been  forced  into 
clothes,  sometimes  into  finery,  and  many  in  this  aAvfnl 
dress  parade  of  death  wear  white  kid  gloves  and  fine 
shoes.  Bnt  this  is  not  the  worst.  Above  these  rows 
of  boxes  hang,  in  all  the  limpness  of  irresponsibility 
for  appearance  which  characterizes  the  dead,  ranks  of 
mmnmies,  hung  by  the  neck,  or  attached  in  some  way 
to  the  walls  of  the  vault.  They  are  pretty  uniformly 
clad  in  sombre  monkish  robes  of  cotton,  and  but  for 
the  horrible  faces  staring  at  you  might  pass  for  scare- 
crows. The  drying  process  has  drawn  the  faces  into 
all  ghastly  contortions,  in  which  one  might  fancy  that 
the  real  character  of  the  depai'ted  is  revealed.  Some 
scowl,  some  grin  with  malevolence,  some  smile  (that 
is  worst  of  all),  and  some  actually  assume  a  comical 
look  that  forces  your  unwilling  laughter.  Sometmies 
groups  of  three  or  four  incline  their  dreadful  heads  to 
•each  other,  as  if  enjoying  some  post-mortem  humorous 
story.  His  conceit  must  be  infinite  who  can  walk 
through  these  ranks  of  the  dried  and  distorted  dead, 
and  not  feel  humiliated  by  such  an  exhibition  of  his 
kind.  Is  it  possible  that  we  shall  all  look  like  that  ? 
Must  all  beauty  and  manliness  and  bravery  come  to 
that  ? 

There  are  many  little  children,  some  not  a  span 
long,  lying  in  their  little  boxes,  decked  in  all  the  finery 
of  fond  affection,  the  lace  and  ribbons  adding  I  know 
not  what  of  mockery  to  the  weazened  baby  faces. 
One  entire  corridor  is  reserved  for  the  women,  and 
this  is  more  pathetic  and  profoundly  disgusting  than 


88      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

tlie  otliers.  Those  who  died  virgin  have  crowns  on 
their  heads,  and  pahns  or  lilies  in  their  hands.  They 
were  great  beauties,  I  doubt  not,  before  they  came 
here,  for  the  dark-eyed  women  of  Palermo  are  comely ; 
but  maid,  or  bride,  or  wife,  they  are  not  beautiful 
now,  although  they  repose  in  silk  dresses,  kid  gloves, 
and  satin  slippers.  These  be  dresses  for  a  ball,  and 
what  a  ball  and  dance  of  death  is  this!  Is  it  any 
pleasure  for  my  lady  to  have  her  partner  or  her  lover 
come  and  see  her  in  this  guise  ? 

I  learned  that  at  death  the  bodies  are  interred  in  a 
sealed  pit  in  this  cemetery  for  a  year.  There  is  sup- 
posed to  be  something  peculiar  in  the  soil  which  dries 
the  body  without  destroying  it.  At  the  end  of  a  year 
it  is  taken  out,  dressed,  and  either  put  into  its  box,  or 
hung  up  in  the  corridor.  Every  year,  at  least  on  All 
Souls'  Day,  the  friends  of  the  departed  come  to  look 
upon  the  frightful  remains.  What  satisfaction  they 
can  have  in  the  spectacle  I  do  not  know,  nor  do  I 
understand  how  any  man  or  woman  of  presentable  ap- 
pearance who  has  visited  these  corridors  in  life  can 
consent  to  occupy  them  after  death.  Interment  here 
was  prohibited  about  a  year  ago.  I  do  not  know  how 
long  the  wealthy  people  of  Palermo  have  been  exposed 
here,  but  we  were  told,  as  we  walked  along,  that  8,000 
bodies  were  in  sight.  Does  such  a  mode  of  sepulchre, 
adopted  by  a  gay  and  intelligent  people,  argue  a  want 
of  sensibility,  —  sensibility  to  the  ridiculous  and  to  the 
horrible,  —  or  is  it  an  evidence  of  Christian  willing- 
ness to  mortify  the  flesh  ? 


PALERMO.  89 

The  museum  of  Palermo  is  extensive,  and  has  many- 
remains  of  classic  times,  of  the  Saracenic  occupation, 
and  of  the  Norman  period.  I  shall  only  mention  two 
things  :  a  magnificent  bronze  ram,  which  was  found  at 
ancient  Syracuse,  and  ancient  Greek  sculptures  found 
at  Selinunto  (Selinus)  and  Segesta.  The  most  re- 
markable of  these  are  the  Metopes  of  Selinus,  from 
the  temples  of  that  city.  They  are  archaic,  the  oldest 
made  in  the  second  haK  of  the  seventh  century  b.  c, 
and  they  are  the  most  ancient  specimens  of  Greek 
sculpture  known  with  the  exception  of  the  lions  of 
Mycenae.  Some  of  the  later  Metopes  are  coeval  with 
those  from  ^gina,  now  at  Munich.  The  material  is 
coarse  sandstone ;  the  subjects  are  mythological  (Per- 
seus slaying  the  Medusa,  a  combat  in  a  quadriga  be- 
tween Peleus  and  another  hero,  Heracles  and  Hip- 
polita,  etc.).  The  w^ork  is  vigorous  and  rude,  and  the 
ablest  betrays  the  Oriental,  let  us  say  Egyptian,  influ- 
ence. A  curious  piece  of  refinement  is  that  the  nude 
portions  of  the  female  figures,  like  the  hands  and  feet, 
are  inlaid  in  white  marble.  Sicily  is  very  rich  in 
Phoenician  and  Greek  remains,  and  the  fragments  in 
the  museum  are  a  good  preparation  for  those  who 
intend  to  pay  any  attention  to  the  study  of  ancient 
art. 

I  have  not  yet  spoken  of  what  will  be  the  first  to 
arrest  the  new-comer's  attention  when  he  lands  at 
Palermo  —  the  two-wheeled,  painted  carts,  common 
all  over  the  island,  but  most  highly  decorated  here. 
The  accompanying  harness  for  donkeys  and  horses  is 


90      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

as  gay  as  embroidery  and  colored  worsted  can  make 
it ;  Init  the  carts  are  almost  a  contribution  to  the  fine 
arts.  Every  part  and  piece  of  wood  in  the  cart  is 
decorated  with  ornamental  painting,  either  figures  or 
agreeable  designs ;  but  each  of  the  two  panels  at  the 
sides,  and  the  two  end  boards,  have  elaborate  pictures. 
These  are  invariably  in  the  Byzantine  school  of  art, 
dra^^^l  with  great  naivete,  but  pleasing  for  all  that, 
and  brilliant  in  color.  The  subjects  are  always  poetic 
and  romantic.  The  classic  writers  are  drawn  on  for 
themes  as  well  as  the  favorite  romancers,  like  Ariosto. 
I  saw  on  one  cart  depicted  the  story  of  Helen  of  Troy 
and  the  wrath  of  Achilles,  and  on  many  combats  be- 
tween knights  and  Saracens,  in  which  the  rescue  of  a 
lovely  maiden  was  usually  the  point  of  interest.  My 
patriotism  was  stirred  by  seeing  on  one  cart  the  pic- 
ture of  Columbus  in  his  famous  act  of  discovering  our 
native  land.  These  are  the  ordinary  carts  of  dirty 
traffic,  for  the  carriage  of  lime,  soil,  and  stones,  as 
well  as  goods,  and  are  owned  and  driven  by  men  who 
do  not  appear  to  be  poets.  What  then  shall  we  say 
of  a  common  people  who  have  so  much  romance  or 
poetry  in  them  that  it  is  lavished  on  objects  of  such 
meanness  as  the  cart  ?  My  owai  opinion  is  that  the 
present  cartmen  inherited  the  habit  of  decorating  the 
carts,  without  inheriting  the  taste  of  their  ancestors. 


CHAPTER  X. 

GIEGENTI    AND    CATANIA. 

We  left  tlie  city  of  Saint  Rosalia  at  six  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  I  was  sorry  not  to  see  tlie  patroness  of 
the  town.  This  lovely  woman  dates,  as  I  have  said, 
from  the  twelfth  centmy,  but  was  wholly  restored  in 
1G64 ;  and  now  r^posCs  in  the  cathedral,  having  gained 
rather  than  lost  in  interest,  as  the  church  has  done,  by 
restoration.  Her  sweet  spirit  seems  to  preside  over 
this  region,  and  I  naturally  had  her  much  on  my  mind 
as  we  steamed  away  in  the  fresh  morning  through  the 
endless  lemon  plantations  which  occupy  the  plain  and 
skirt  the  beautiful  bay. 

It  is  a  peculiarity  of  the  railway  trains  of  Sicily  not 
to  be  in  a  hurry,  and  we  had  leisure  to  enjoy  the  per- 
fume of  the  air  and  the  hedges  of  geranium  and  roses 
along  the  way.  All  the  stations  have  a  pretty  taste  in 
flowers.  I  know  nothing  much  lovelier  than  the  sweep 
around  the  bay  of  Palermo  in  the  morning,  the  curve 
of  the  shore,  as  we  draw  away  from  the  city  and  Monte 
Pellegrino  and  pass  among  the  picturesque  rocks  and 
lofty  headlands  that  line  all  this  coast. 

For  a  long  distance  we  had  the  sea  in  sight,  with 
lofty  hills  inland,  and  now  and  then  villages,  and  even 


92  NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

cities  of  several  thousand  inhabitants,  perched  upon 
rocky  eminences,  cities  with  steep  streets,  flat-roofed, 
oriental  houses,  church  towers,  and  flanking  ruins  of 
mediaeval  castles.  It  is  rather  humiliating  to  one's 
geographical  pride  to  come  across  cities  of  20,000  to 
30,000  inhabitants  of  which  he  never  heard  before. 

As  soon  as  we  turned  southward  we  began  to  ascend 
amono-  the  hills.  I  do  not  know  what  altitude  we  at- 
taiued  crossing  the  water-shed  between  the  Tyrrhenian 
and  African  seas,  but  it  must  have  been  as  much  as 
1,500  feet,  and  we  had  peaks  in  view  over  5,000  feet 
in  height.  The  road  frequently  pierces  the  hills,  and 
we  spent  a  good  deal  of  our  time  in  tunnels.  Some- 
times we  g^ppeared  to  attain  a  speed  of  nearly  five  miles 
an  hour,  but  later  in  the  day  we  went  at  a  breakneck 
rate  of  over  fifteen  miles,  for  the  distance  of  eighty-four 
miles  to  Girgenti  had  to  be  got  over  somehow  in  seven 
hours.  Sicily  is  a  treeless  island,  but  fertile  in  the 
valleys  and  on  the  uplands,  and  we  passed  some  fine 
grazing  land  ;  but  the  main  yield  of  these  hills  is  sul- 
phur and  yellow  marble.  The  scenery  kept  us  on  the 
qui  vive  all  day,  and  was  very  pretty  when  we  went 
do\vn  the  valley  of  the  Platani  and  came  into  the  rich 
basin  of  Castronuovo.  We  ran  out  of  the  Platani  into 
a  side  valley,  and  passed  close  by  Comitini,  and  among 
the  most  valuable  sulphur  mines  of  the  island.  The 
owner  is  called  the  sulphur-king  —  Pluto  would  be  a 
better  name  —  of  Sicily,  a  rank  and  dignity  only  at- 
tained in  our  country  by  the  princes  of  petroleum  and 
the  kings  of  silver.     Heaps  of  the  yellow  mineral  lay 


GIRGENTI  AND   CATANIA.  93 

at  the  mouths  of  the  pits  and  at  all  the  stations  plat- 
form cars  were  filled  with  the  yellow  blocks  of  it.  I 
never  expected  to  see  so  much  sulphur,  for  I  did  not 
know  there  was  so  much  of  it  in  this  world.  After 
passing  Caldare,  where  the  line  branches  off  for  Cata- 
nia, we  had  a  view  over  the  hills  of  the  blue  sea.  A 
magnificent  sweep  of  mountain  country  was  in  sight, 
and  tlu-ee  or  four  cities  perched  upon  commanding 
heights. 

One  of  these  is  Girgenti,  the  object  of  our  pilgrim- 
age.    This  you  know  was  the  ancient  Agrigentum,  or 
Acragas,  "  the  most  beautiful  city  of  mortals,"  in  the 
opinion  of  Pindar.     It  is  as  much  as  600  feet  above 
the  sea,  and  we  were  nearly  an  hour  in  dragging  up  to 
its  walls,  and  entering  one  of  its  gates.     The  modern 
city  was    probably  the    acropolis  of   the  classic  city, 
which  lay  on  a  sort  of  irregular  table-land  below  it,  but 
was  itself   some  300  feet   above  the  seashore.     This 
acropolis  had  a  temple  to  Zeus  —  some  embedded  pil- 
lars of  which  you  can  see  now  under  an  old  church,  by 
the  aid  of  a  small  boy  and  a  candle.     To  the  east  of 
the  city  rises  the  rock  of  Athene,  over  a  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea,  and  the  Doric  founders  of  the  town, 
who  came  here  almost  600  years  before  our  era,  may 
have  worshiped  Athene  there.     The  depression  in  the 
ridge  between  the  town  and  the  rock  is  said  to  have 
been  scooped  out  by  Empedocles  to  let  in  the  north 
wind  and  dispel  the  malaria,  which,  in  his  day  as  now, 
scourged  the  plateau  of  the  city  and  the  low  ground 
through  which  a  slow  winding  stream  finds  its  way 
dovm  to  the  ancient  port. 


94      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

The  view  from  the  city,  which  has  about  20,000  peo- 
ple more  or  less  in  rags  and  idleness,  and  stretches  along 
the  ridge,  over  the  edge  of  which  it  hangs,  is  exten- 
sive and  magnificent,  and  almost  unsurpassed  in  classic 
interest.  Immediately  beneath  is  the  great  plateau 
where  the  old  city  stood ;  the  walls  of  it  ran  along  the 
edge  of  a  cliff,  and  protected  the  town,  and  the 
splendid  temples,  whose  ruins  are  now  the  most  strik- 
ing objects  in  the  green  and  smiling  scene.  Beyond 
is  the  sea-plain  and  the  old  port,  and  to  the  right  the 
new  Porto  Empedocle  to  which  the  railway  descends. 
And  along  the  curving  coast  sparkles  the  blue  African 

sea. 

Many  travelers  go  to  Girgenti,  but  the  advent  of  our 
carriao-e  in  the  Ion"-  main  street  seemed  to  be  an  event 
to  the  inhabitants.  The  ordinary  business  of  loafing 
was  suspended  to  watch  us,  and  our  progress  was  at- 
tended by  a  running,  shouting  rabble  of  men  and  boys, 
who  gave  us  the  benefit  of  their  company  to  the  door 
of  the  Hotel  Belvedere.  With  inconceivable  noise  and 
clamor,  and  good-nature,  a  dozen  of  these  seized  upon 
the  various  pieces  of  our  luggage,  and  ran  in  with 
them,  using  the  most  commendable  agility  in  distribut- 
ing them  in  various  parts  of  the  rambling  hotel.  The 
excitement  of  the  landlord  and  his  minions,  male  and 
female,  equaled  that  of  the  townspeople.  It  was  im- 
possible to  get  intelligent  speech  of  any  persons  in  the 
house.  They  all  rushed  about,  up  and  down  stairs, 
banging  doors,  and  yelling  to  each  other.  We  could 
not  have  been  received  in  a  more  promiscuous  manner 


GIRGENTI  AND   CATANIA.  95 

if  we  had  come  into  a  lunatic  asylum  kept  by  lunatics. 
At  last  wearied  out  mtli  chasing  about  waiters,  land- 
lord, and  chambermaids,-and  attempting  to  follow  our 
ba^-o-aoe  distributed  all  over  the  house,  I  fixer!  upon  a 
room  to  suit  myself,  and  collected  my  personal  prop- 
erty, after  a  struggle,  from  various  people  who  had  a 
two-soldi  lien  on  every  piece  —  the  most  helpful  folk 
in  the  world,  but  alas,  not  unselfish.     The  room,  with 
a  stone  floor,  was  not  much  to  look  at  nor  did  it  offer 
a  gTeat  deal  in  the  way  of  comfort,  but  what  a  view  it 
commanded !     It  had  a  balcony  on  the  very  edge  of 
the  cliff,  and  below  was  all  the  glory  of  land  and  sea, 
and  the  poetry  left  over  from  the  old  Greek  world. 
I  can  scarcely  imagine  what  it  was  when  a  great  city 
spread  out  there,  but  nothing  could  well  be  lovelier 
then  this  array  of  Doric  temples  and  ruins  of  temples, 
clusters  of  columns,  and  single  columns,  on  a  plateau 
rich  with  spring  verdure,  full  of  color  from  blossoming- 
plants,  olive-trees,  and  roimd-domed  pines,  sprawling 
cactus,  and  vines  trailing  over  the  gray  stones.     The 
cactus  is  here  very  abundant  and  rampant.     This  huge 
misshapen  vegetable  always  seems  to  me  out  of  place  in 
this  age  ;  it  is  a  survival  of  the  old  geologic  eras,  when 
all  the  animals  were  gigantic  and  badly  put  together. 
It  is  neither  tree  nor  shrub,  but  a  succession  of  fat 
leaves,  the  one  growing  out  of  the  other  in  the  most 
fantastic  manner.     The  only  modern  thing  it  reminds 
me  of  is  the  German  language.     That  grows,  one  word 
springing  out  of  another  in  endless  uncouth  progTCS- 
sion,  in  much  the  same  manner.     And  the  parallel 


96      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

holds  good  farther.  For  on  the  edge  of  these  fat 
leaves  in  time  appear  scarlet  blossoms,  and  the  fruit 
which  merits  its  name  of  prickly  pear,  just  as  the  bar- 
barous German  flowers  now  and  then  into  the  sweetest 
poetic  bloom. 

But  I  am  wandering  from  this  hotel,  which  I  wish  to 
commend.  It  has  n't  its  like  in  the  world,  I  think, 
out  of  Sicily,  and  here  is  only  matched  by  those  in 
Syracuse.  How  it  is  kept  running  I  cannot  imagine, 
since  the  keepers  of  it  feel  no  interest  in  their  guests 
until  the  time  comes  for  making  out  the  bill.  They 
give  all  their  energies  to  that.  It  is  a  hotel  where 
you  can  call  for  anything  you  want.  You  have  this 
privilege  ;  but  of  course  you  do  not  get  anything.  It 
is  not  true  to  say  that  it  contains  nothing  that  you  can 
eat,  and  nobody  to  serve  it,  for  we  did  live  after  a 
fashion.  But  it  is  an  exciting  place,  a  place  where 
you  struggle  for  existence,  and  the  landlord  looks  on 
in  an  amused  manner. 

When  we  went  into  the  dining  room  a  surprise 
awaited  us.  We  found  something  that  I  had  never 
seen  before,  and  did  not  expect  so  far  from  the  centres 
of  civilization.  Tliis  was  an  electric  bell  on  the  table, 
a  cord,  passing  over  the  chandelier,  terminated  in  a 
knob  which  rested  on  a  glass  dish  convenient  to  the 
hand.  We  at  first  supposed  that  this  was  intended  to 
administer  an  electric  shock  to  the  boarders  exhausted 
with  waiting.  But  we  ascertained  that  by  pressing  a 
button  in  the  knob,  we  could  ring  with  great  violence 
a  distant  bell.     I  never  saw  anything  so  convenient. 


GIRGENTI  AND   CATANTA.  97 

Without  rising  from  the  table,  we  could  ring  this  as 
much  as  we  liked.  It  is  a  great  improvement,  and  I 
wonder  the  invention  is  not  introduced  elsewhere. 
There  is  no  harm  in  it,  for  no  one  in  the  house  paid 
the  least  attention  to  it.  The  people  were  superior  to 
their  own  invention.  Occasionally  the  waiter  made 
his  appearance,  but  never  in  response  to  this  bell. 
The  landlord  is  on  the  eve  of  a  great  discovery. 
When  he  discovers  that  the  object  of  ringing  an  elec- 
tric bell  is  to  have  it  answered,  that  it  should  summon 
a  waiter,  and  that  the  waiter  in  request  ought  to  bring 
something  to  eat,  he  will  have  taken  a  great  step  in 
the  art  of  keeping  a  hotel.  As  it  is,  I  can  think  of 
only  one  thing  that  is  needed  to  complete  his  dining 
room,  and  that  is  a  placard  with  the  legend,  "  Tlie 
Lord  will  provided 

Whenever  we  walked  in  the  street  of  Girgenti, 
(there  is  one  street  where  you  can  walk,  in  the  others 
you  must  climb),  we  were  attended  and  followed  and 
beset  by  crowds  of  most  importunate  young  beggars, 
impudent  and  imperturbably  good-natured  wearers  of 
rags,  of  both  sexes,  that  could  not  be  shaken  off,  nor 
driven  away,  nor  out- walked,  nor  escaped.  They  of- 
fered us  counterfeit  coins,  they  insisted  on  showing  us 
the  way  to  places  we  were  familiar  with,  they  begged 
incessantly.  They  persistently  got  between  us  and  the 
views,  and  all  sentimental  reflections  on  the  noble  part 
of  their  city.  For  myself,  I  believe  that  their  ances- 
tors, the  classic  Greeks,  were  no  better  than  they  in 
7 


98      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

manners  and  apparel,  but  they  might  have  been  more 
picturesque. 

One  might  spend  many  charmed  days  among  the 
noble  ruins  of  old  Agrigentum.  There  is  one  of  the 
most  nearly  perfect  Greek  temples  in  existence,  the 
so-called  temple  of  Concord,  the  interior,  or  cella^  of 
wliich  was  once  used  for  a  Christian  church.  There 
is  not  another  so  well  preserved  except  the  temple  of 
Theseus  at  Athens.  Its  thirty-six  columns  are  all 
standing.  It  is  pure  Doric,  but  wants  the  grace  and 
charm  of  the  Doric  temple  of  Neptune  at  Paestum. 
More  picturesque  and  poetic  is  the  temple  of  Juno 
Laeinia,  on  more  elevated  ground,  with  only  half 
of  its  great  columns  standing,  but  very  impressive, 
whether  we  see  the  blue  sky  through  it  at  a  distance, 
or  stand  within  it  and  look  out  upon  the  smiling  sea, 
and  the  wonderful  landscape.  These  are  only  two  of 
many  grand  edifices  which  were  built  along  the  'cliff 
and  overlooked  the  high  city  wall,  and  must  have  pre- 
sented from  the  sea  a  magnificent  sjjectacle.  The  most 
gigantic  of  their  buildings,  wliich  is  now  a  vast  field 
of  impressive  ruins,  was  the  temple  of  Zeus,  begun  in 
the  fifth  century  b.  C,  and  never  finished.  It  had 
thirty-eight  huge  half-columns,  each  twenty  feet  in 
circumference.  The  drums  of  some  of  these  half  col- 
umns lie  here,  and  the  flutings  are  large  enough  to  ad- 
mit a  man  standing  in  each.  Prone  on  the  ground  lies 
one  of  the  colossal  Atlantes,  which  stood  within  the 
temple,  a  figure  twenty-five  feet  high  built  up  of  blocks 
cut  with  considerable  skill.     It  has  been  reconstructed 


GIRGENTI  AND   CATANIA.  99 

from  the  collected  fragments.  A  great  portion  of  the 
stones  of  the  temple  have  been  carted  off  to  construct 
the  Mole,  but  there  is  still  a  large  area  covered  with 
huge  fragments.  The  temple  was  one  of  the  largest 
of  antiquity,  three  hundred  and  sixty-three  feet  long, 
and  a  himdred  and  eighty-two  feet  broad.  On  this 
plateau,  as  I  have  said,  are  other  standing  columns, 
and  remains  of  other  temples,  the  gray  rocks  are  cut 
into  tombs,  which  attest  the  successive  presence,  tri- 
umph, and  mortality  of  Greeks,  Romans,  Christians, 
Saracens,  the  whole  presenting  a  most  impressive  les- 
son of  the  passing  show  of  this  world.  We,  the  heirs 
of  all  the  virtues  and  of  some  of  the  arts,  sit  amid 
these  gray  ruins,  under  a  sky  as  blue  as  ever  it  was, 
in  sight  of  a  sea  tossing  and  flashing  as  when  it  bore 
the  little  barks  of  the  Greek  adventurers,  or  the  tri- 
remes of  the  Roman  masters,  watch  the  green  lizards 
gliding  over  the  stones,  and  hear  the  whistles  of  a  loco- 
motive which  dares  to  disturb  this  desert  silence.  Gir- 
genti  is,  I  suppose,  for  the  sixth  or  eighth  time  in  its 
history,  entering  upon  a  new  career  of  life  and  pros- 
perity. 

In  passing  by  rail  to  the  east  coast  of  the  island, 
from  Girgenti  to  Catania,  or  around  the  highest  pass- 
able portions  of  the  island,  we  were  almost  elevated 
enough  to  overlook  the  whole  of  Sicily.  We  were 
much  of  the  way  amid  sulphur  mines,  and  above  the 
region  of  the  olive,  the  orange,  the  fig  and  the  grape. 
I  can  believe  that  the  apple  grows  on  these  uplands, 
but  I  saw  no  trees.     Indeed  the  aspect  of  the  country 


100      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

was  generally  wild  and  inhospitable,  but  for  wide  and 
noble  mountain  views  the  ride  was  memorable. 

It  was  near  the  mountain  crag  on  which  stands  the 
lofty  city  of  Castelgiovanni  that  we  had  our  first  sight 
of  JEtna,  and  thenceforward  nearly  all  the  way  to  Ca- 
tania we  kept  its  noble  bulk  in  view,  a  vast  long  slop- 
ing peak  of  snow,  lifted  over  10,000  feet  in  the  air, 
and  glowing  rosy  red,  in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun, 
as  we  swept  down  to  the  coast.  We  begin  to  under- 
stand now  that  Sicily  is  built  merely  to  show  off  ^l^^tna ; 
it  is  the  great  fact  of  the  island,  the  raison  d'etre  of 
the  rest. 

All  this  region,  and  all  Sicily  for  that  matter,  is 
classic  ground,  the  legendary  playground  of  all  the 
poets,  long  before  the  historians  appeared,  the  scene 
of  very  many  of  the  most  beautiful  myths.  Beyond 
us,  over  the  mountain,  is  the  Lake  Pergusa,  a  mere 
miasmatic  pond,  which  was  in  Ovid's  day  set  about 
with  lofty  trees,  having  flowery  banks  and  clear  blue 
water,  the  charming  place  whence  Pluto  carried  off 
Proserpine. 

Catania  is  a  very  satisfactory  city  to  the  Sicilians, 
because  it  is  busy  and  big  (nearly  90,000  people)  and 
thriving,  but  the  romantic  traveler  does  not  care  much 
for  its  long  and  regular  common-place  streets,  although 
one  of  the  lonirest  is  named  Strada  Lincoln.  It  is 
built  on  an  old  lava  stream,  which  here  descended  to 
the  sea,  and  is  in  summer  so  hot  that  an  English  in- 
habitant —  the  most  truthful  man  in  the  place  —  told 
me  that  the  lava  rocks  down  by  the  shore  are  so  heated 


GIRGENTI  AND   CATANIA.  101 

that  eggs  laid  on  tliem  (not  by  the  hen)  become  per- 
fectly cooked.  The  houses  are  mostly  built  of  lava, 
and  these  with  the  lava  beds  about  the  city  so  absorb 
the  heat  of  a  long  summer  day  that  the  radiation  at 
nioht  is  almost  intolerable. 

Catania  detained  us  only  long  enough  to  make  a 
day's  excursion  up  the  side  of  ^tna,  and  to  visit  the 
old  convent  of  Saint  Benedetto,  the  largest  religious 
house  I  have  ever  seen.     We  went  there  to  see  the 
arrested  stream  of  lava  behind  the  noble  gardens,  a 
stately  terrace  of  a  garden,  sweet  with  fruits  and  flow- 
ers, where  the  old  monks  used  to  walk  about  and  think 
of  the  sins  of  other  people,  in  sight  of  great  ^tna. 
The  stream  of  lava,  from  the  disastrous  eruption  of 
1669  was,  as  is  well  known,  arrested  at  this  spot  and 
turned  aside,  so  that  it  spared  the  convent,  and  most 
of  the  town,  by  a  display  of  the  veil  of  Santa  Agatha 
at  the  critical  moment  at  this  spot.     The  hot  current 
went  away  to  the  southwest,  descending  into  the  sea 
and  partially  filling  up  the  harbor.     I  saw  the  chapel 
of  Santa  Agatha  in  the  cathedral,  but  not  her  veil, 
which  is  rarely  shown.     In  the  chapel   is  the  silver 
sarcophagus  with  her  remains.     This  is  carried  in  pro- 
cession through  the  town  once  a  year,  in   February. 
The    Santa  Agatha  suffered   martyrdom  in  the  year 
262,  rather  than  yield  to  the  dishonorable  proposals 
of  the  Roman  Decius. 

The  other  object  of  interest  in  the  cathedral  is  a 
monument  to  the  composer  Bellini,  who  was  a  native 
of  this  place.     The  monument  has  for  inscription  the 


102      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY: 

musical  notes  of  the  beginnings  of  favorite  airs  from 
Lis  operas.  In  the  museum  in  one  of  the  apartments 
of  the  suppressed  convent  —  and  a  very  interesting 
museum  it  is  for  antique  fragments  -r-  you  may  see 
carefully  preserved  the  coffin  in  which  the  remains  of 
Bellini  were  brought  from  Paris.  On  the  square  in 
front  of  the  cathedral  is  an  antique  elephant  in  lava, 
bearing  on  his  back  an  obelisk  of  Eg\'ptian  granite. 
Whether  this  is  the  elephant  that  the  Catanians  cap- 
tured from  the  people  of  Syracuse  when  the  latter 
made  war  on  them  by  aid  of  an  elejihant,  long  ago,  I 
do  not  know.  But  these  people  of  Catania  did  cap- 
ture an  elephant  from  the  soldiers  of  Syracuse,  and 
have  had  the  beast  as  their  coat  of  arms  ever  since. 

In  the  great  eruption  of  1669,  which  spread  ruin 
aU  over  this  part  of  the  island,  Monti  Rossi  were  up- 
heaved on  the  side  of  ^Etna,  two  round  pealcs  3,110 
feet  above  the  sea.  "We  drove  up  the  slope  twelve 
miles  to  Nicolosi,  in  order  to  ascend  Monti  Rossi,  and 
have  a  near  view  of  the  giant  volcano,  of  which  I  shall 
have  more  to  say,  personally,  when  I  come  to  speak  of 
Taormina.  The  whole  country  is  lava,  the  houses,  vil- 
lages, walls,  fields.  Vast  fields  are  merely  wastes  of 
contorted  lava,  which,  cooled  in  all  sorts  of  grotesque 
shapes,  might  have  suggested  Dore's  drawings  of  the 
"  Inferno."  Amid  it  the  uncouth  cactus  flourishes. 
But  on  vast  areas,  also,  the  lava  lias  crumbled  into  the 
richest  soil,  which  supports  plantations  of  oranges  and 
lemons,  and  fields  of  grain.  This  soil  is  now  black, 
and  only  beginning  to  show  the  green  of  the  spring. 


GIRGENTI  AND   CATANIA.  103 

By  and  by  it  will  all  bloom,  I  suppose  there  is  not  a 
more  fertile  slope  in  the  world  than  this  of  ^tna  to 
the  sea,  and  it  is  literally  true  that  the  snow-fields  of 
the  volcano  rise  out  of  vineyards,  and  groves  of  orange 
and  lemon. 

No  region,  I  should  say,  is  more  interesting  to  the 
geologist  than  this.  We  had  a  driver  with  the  distin- 
guished name  of  Pasquale  Syracuse,  who  had  probably 
been  with  scientific  people.  He  pointed  out  the  ef- 
fects of  the  lava  eruptions  as  we  passed  along.  In 
reply  to  a  question  if  a  certain  conformation  of  rocks 
was  due  to  the  eruption  of  1669,  he  said,  "  Oh,  no, 
that  is  from  the  diluvio  universale.''''  We  felt  on  firm 
ground  again  with  vestiges  of  the  Deluge. 

Monti  Eossi  are  twin  peaks,  heaps  of  soft  ashes  and 
scoria,  very  difficult  to  climb,  scoria  and  crumbling 
rock,  blotched  with  brick-red  color,  and  full  of  shining 
black  crystals.  From  the  summit  we  had  a  view  of 
hundreds  of  like  mounds  of  extinct  craters  on  the  side 
of  the  mountain,  scars  of  old  eruptions.  The  volcano 
always  has  a  little  torch  of  smoke  above  its  crown  of 
snow,  but  it  has  a  habit  of  breaking  out  not  on  the 
top  but  anywhere  along  its  blistered  sides.  The  scene 
was  grand  ;  great  fields  of  snow  above  us ;  around, 
the  black  desolation  of  lava  fields,  the  cultivated  soil 
not  yet  started  into  life,  farther  down  the  slope  the 
fruit-bearing  trees,  and  the  far-cui*viug  shore  with  its 
villages  and  the  deep  blue  sea. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


TAORMINA. 


When  you  are  on  the  east  coast  of  Sicily  you  are 
in  tlie  most  poetic  locality  of  the  classic  world.  Not 
in  Attica  itself  are  there  clustered  more  Hellenic 
myths.  It  is  the  land  where  one  understands  Theoc- 
ritus, and  finds  the  sources  of  the  inspiration  of  Ovid. 
Here,  as  scarcely  anywhere  else,  unite  the  loveliness 
and  the  terror  of  nature's  idyllic  shores  and  flowery 
slopes,  dominated  by  the  mysterious  majesty  of  -^tna, 
the  giant  volcano  with  its  eternal  snow-crown  and 
pennant  of  smoke,  vast  ^tna,  so  full  of  beauty  and  of 
destruction,  warming  into  life  on  its  fertile  sides  the 
golden  orchards,  and  the  purple  vineyards,  which  ever 
and  anon  it  overwhelmed  and  laid  waste  with  its  sub- 
terranean fires.  It  was  this  eternal  possibility  of  sud- 
den wrath  and  ruin  out  of  such  passionate  beauty  — 
as  calamity  so  often  follows  in  the  train  of  a  lovely 
woman  —  that  made,  that  makes,  this  land  so  fascinat- 
ing to  eveiy  poet.  Beauty,  I  suppose,  must  always 
be  a  dear  purchase  in  this  world. 

I  do  not  know  that  Proserpine  was  carried  off  from 
a  flowery  margin  of  a  lake  in  these  hills,  for  I  did  not 
see  the  lake,  but  there  is  good  evidence  of  the  troubled 


TAORMINA.  105 

loves  of  Acis  and  Galatea,  and  the  interference  of 
Polyphemus.  The  story  of  how  the  lovers  were  united, 
and  flowed  down  to  the  sea,  escaping  in  happy  immor- 
tal death  —  the  common  escape  for  all  of  us,  if  we  do 
escape  into  happiness  —  the  persecution  of  the  Giant, 
does  not  depend  altogether  upon  the  testimony  of  Ovid 
or  Theocritus.  For  does  not  one  see  still  the  river 
Acis,  and  the  fountain  of  the  charming  nymph  —  too 
tender  a  morsel  for  the  Cyclops,  who  had  his  lair  in 
the  caves  of  ^S^tua  ? 

The  rail  from  Catania  to  Taormina  runs  along  the 
curved  shore  of  the  sea  through  a  succession  of  lemon 
groves  —  in  blossom  at  this  time  of  the  year,  and  in 
yellow  fruit  also  —  and  a  way  bordered  with  wild 
flowers,  cactus,  and  geraniums.  We  skirted  the  bay 
which  Virgil  describes,  the  Portus  Ulysses,  and  looked 
do^Ti  on  a  ruined  castle  of  the  thirteenth  century, 
perched  on  a  low  rock  headland,  a  castle  that  Nor- 
mans and  Aragonese  and  Saracens  fought  over  year 
after  year.  We  passed  along  the  high  cliffs  under 
which  the  Carthaginians  under  Himilco  defeated  the 
Syracusans  in  the  fourth  century,  and  suddenly  came 
in  sight  of  one  of  the  most  interesting  places  in  the 
world  to  the  boy  who  loves  his  Virgil.  Off  that  pomt 
of  land  rise  out  of  the  sea  the  seven  basaltic  rocks  — 
one  of  them  two  hundred  feet  high  —  the  Faraglioni 
or  Scogli  de  Cidopi.  The  blue  sea  dashes  and  foams 
about  them  as  in  the  days  when  the  Greek  adventurer 
first  saw  them.  They  are  the  very  rocks  which  Poly- 
phemus hurled  after  Ulysses  and  his  little  ships,  when 


106      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

that  crafty  sailor  escaped  from  the  hospitable  giant 
whose  eye  he  had  put  out.  I  looked  up  the  long  slope 
hoping  to  see  the  cave  where  Poljq^hemus  lived,  and 
entertained  the  guests  whose  usual  fate  it  was  never  to 
issue  from  their  night-quarters.  I  did  not  discover 
the  cave,  but  I  saw  the  steep  slope  down  which  the 
enraged  Cyclops,  roaring  with  the  pain  of  his  extin- 
guished eye,  and  guiding  his  steps  by  an  uprooted  pine 
tree  grasped  in  his  hand,  pursued  his  insidious  and 
lost  guests. 

Only  a  little  beyond  this,  rising  still  more  from  the 
sea,  we  come  upon  the  sloping  plateau  where  Acireale 
stands,  crossing  the  Acis,  and  the  flowery  mead  haunted 
aforetime  by  Galatea.  Acireale  is  a  very  lovely  town 
built  upon  a  lava  stream,  overlooking  the  sea  and  com- 
manding a  superb  view  of  snowy  ^Etua.  All  this 
region  has  been  repeatedly  overflowed  by  lava  and 
shaken  by  earthquakes,  and  it  is  difficidt  to  tell  exactly 
how  it  looked  in  the  days  of  Poljq^hemus  and  Galatea. 
It  is  now  a  garden  of  bloom  and  color  and  beauty. 

Travelers  visit  on  this  road,  several  miles  up  the 
slope  of  2Eii\\2k,  above  Giarre,  but  we  did  not,  the  re- 
mains of  a  monstrous  chestnut  tree,  called  di  Cento 
Cavalli^  because  a  himdred  horses  of  a  troop  were 
once  sheltered  under  it.  It  is,  however,  not  one  tree 
but  a  group  (said  to  have  common  roots)  ;  but  there 
is  a  tree  near  it  said  by  the  guide  books  to  measure 
seventy-six  feet  in  circumference.  These  trees  are  no 
doubt  one  thousand  years  old. 

The  road  continues  through  a  coimtry  of  great  fer- 


TAORMINA.  107 

tility  and  of  great  beauty,  the  mountain  on  one  side 
and  the  sea-plain  on  the  other.  The  plains  are  very 
malarious,  and  probably  have  been  so  from  old  times. 
We  crossed  the  stony  bed  of  the  ancient  river  Ace- 
sines,  caUed  the  Alcantara,  and  had  below  us  the  re- 
mains of  the  oldest  Greek  settlement  in  Sicily,  made 
by  Theocles  and  a  colony  from  Sybaris  in  B.  c.  735. 
Kere  on  this  long,  curving  promontory,  noM^  a  lemon 
plantation,  and  the  site  of  a  poverty-stricken  fishing 
village,  was  old  Naxos.  -The  peasants,  digging  in  the 
fields,  still  turn  up  coins  and  remains  of  this  primeval 
city.  It  was  a  convenient  landing  place  for  colonists 
and  adventurers,  but  always  open  to  attack,  and  very 
early  in  their  history  its  citizens  climbed  up  the  heights 
of  Taormina,  above  it,  for  security.  They  called  it 
Tauromenium  —  the  old  coins  have  a  bidl  on  one  side 
—  and  there  was  their  acropolis. 

Taormina,  above  the  cape  of  that  name,  lies  on  the 
edge  of  a  rocky  cliff,  nearly  four  hundred  feet  above 
the  sea,  and  we  consumed  nearly  an  hour  in  reaching 
it  up  the  ziz-zag  carriage  road,  which  offers  a  succes- 
sion of  charming  prospects.  In  this  lofty  and  most 
picturesque  of  towns  I  lingered  two  weeks,  finding  it 
more  difficult  as  the  perfect  days  v/ent  by  to  tear  my- 
self away  ;  but  if  I  were  to  write  of  it  for  two  weeks 
I  should  fail  to  possess  you  of  its  many  charms.  I 
have  come  to  no  other  place  where  one  a  little  tired 
and  willing  to  rest  in  the  winter  season  could  be  so 
perfectly  at  peace  and  so  fed  with  varied  beauty.  The 
climate  is  aU  that  one  could  wish,  mild  and  free  of 


108      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

snow,  and  the  situation  is  so  elevated  that  the  air  is 
inspiring.  One  can  do,  what  he  can  in  so  few  south- 
ern winter  resorts,  climb  about  the  hiUs  and  walk  with 
no  feelins:  of  lano-uor.  Of  course  there  are  now  and 
then  days  of  sirocco,  or  enervating  south  wind,  but 
not  many.  It  is  as  yet,  also,  a  somewhat  primitive 
place,  and  not  melancholy  with  invalids  or  insufferable 
with  unintelligent  tourists.  The  natural  beauty  of  the 
place  is  supplemented  by  classical  and  historical  asso- 
ciations, and  one  lives  here  two  lives,  without  any 
wearying  effort  of  the  imagination  or  bodily  fatigue. 

I  stayed  first  at  a  hotel  on  the  main  street  of  the 
town,  the  windows  and  balconies  of  which  overlook 
the  precipitous  slopes  of  the  hill,  the  curving  coast, 
and  the  great  expanse  of  blue  water,  but  I  liked  bet- 
ter the  quarters  I  had  afterwards  at  the  Timeo,  a  lit- 
tle inn  on  the  hill  under  the  Greek  theatre.  It  takes 
its  name  from  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  the 
Greek  historians  before  oiu-  era,  Timreus,  who  was 
born  at  Taormina.  The  accommodations  were  simple 
but  very  good,  and  tlie  people  who  kept  it  were  kind- 
ness itself.  Nothing  adds  more  to  the  pleasure  of  a 
traveler's  stay  in  any  place  than  courtesy  and  civility 
and  good  temper  on  the  part  of  the  hosts.  Every- 
body gets  fond  of  the  obliging  keepers  of  the  Timeo. 

To  sit  on  the  tei-race  in  front  of  the  inn  is  one  of 
the  supreme  satisfactions  in  life.  It  is  one  of  the 
places  from  which  you  would  never  care  to  stir.  Ab- 
sorbed in  the  restful  beauty  of  the  scene,  I  imagine 
one  might  in  time  lose  the  power  to  stir,  give  up  ambi- 


TAORMINA.  109 

tion  and  the  desire  to  get  other  people's  property  and 
the  offices  abeady  held  by  the  "  honest  and  capable," 
and  let  the  world  pass  without  a  sigh. 

This  view  is  similar  to  that  from  the  Greek  theatre 
above  it.  But  from  the  hill  of  the  theatre  above  we 
also  have  a  view  northward  up  the  strait  toward  Mes- 
sina, with  its  many  lofty  headlands,  covered  with  towns 
and  towers,  and  off  upon  the  high,  purple-colored 
mountains  of  Calabria,  and  over  a  vaster  expanse  of 
the  Mediterranean.  But  the  prospect  from  the  inn 
would  suffice  any  glutton  of  scenery. 

On  the  left  and  below  is  the  indented,  curving  coast 
as  the  sea  follows  and  flows  along  it,  giving  its  sands 
a  dozen  shades  of  green,  blue  and  purple,  a  coast  of 
fruit  plantations,  towers  and  graceful  points,  stretch- 
ing southward  to  the  long,  dim  promontory  that  hides 
Syracuse  from  us.  We  look  immediately  underneath 
upon  old  Naxos,  and  upon  the  precipitous  side  of  the 
cliff  upon  the  edge  of  which  the  town  of  Taormina 
lies  along,  a  town  of  mediasval  aspect,  with  old  deco- 
rated palaces,  and  towers  of  the  Norman  time,  and 
Saracenic  features.  To  the  right  and  hanging  over 
the  town  is  a  high  peak,  the  Castello,  a  half-ruined 
stronghold.  In  classic  times  this  was  the  acropolis  of 
the  city.  When  Dionysius  besieged  the  town,  B.  C. 
394,  he  made  a  bold  attempt  on  this  fortress  at  night, 
at  the  head  of  his  soldiers,  but  it  is  said  that,  incum- 
bered by  his  armor,  he  was  hurled  down  the  rocks, 
and  nearly  killed.  The  night  was  stormy,  and  I  be- 
lieve there  was  sleet  and  ice  on  the  steep.     Two  years 


110      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

afterwards  he  made  another  attempt  and  captured  the 
place.      Still  liigher  and  behind  it  on  a   peak  two 
thousand  feet  high,  is   Mola  —  for  the  possession  of 
which  Greeks,  Romans,  and  Saracens  have  contended 
by  force  and  strategy  —  a  picturesque  succession  of 
shabby  houses,  glued  together  like  the  cells  of  a  wasp 
nest.    The  inhabitants  are  poor  as  poverty,  and  sturdy 
beggars.     It  was  our  lot  when  we  were  there,  seated 
on  the  ruins  of  its  fortress  and  drinking  a  bottle  of 
Monte  Venere  wine  which  the  keeper  of  the  osteria 
brought  out,  and  of  which  he  drank  half  to  the  health 
of  Garibaldi  and  ourselves,  but  for  which  we  paid,  it 
was  our  lot,  I  say,  to  be  approached  by  a  bevy  of  girls 
in  holiday  attire,  to  beg  a  contribution  to  the  festa  of 
some  saiut,  or  virgin,  soon  to  come  off.     We  had  a 
levee  of  -all  the  town  as  we  sat  there  enjoying  the 
magnificent    prosjiect,   every    person    anxious    to    do 
enough  for  us  to  entitle  him  or  her  to  a  copper  coin. 
We  were  asked  repeatedly  by  boys,  men,  and  women 
if  we  did  not  wish  to  see  the   "  Universale,"  which 
seemed  to  be  the  one  object  of  interest  and  treasure  of 
the  town.     We  consented  at  last  to  view  the  wonder, 
and  were  taken  down  to  the  little  plaza  by  the  church, 
where  the  cure  and  the  tavern  keeper  together  pro- 
duced a  folio  volume  and  opened  it  with  a  flourish  of 
pride.     It  was  one  volume  of  a  Universal  Atlas,  pub- 
lished in  Holland  in  the  last  century.     A  dense  crowd 
gathered  about  it  to  help  us  examine  it,  and  seemed 
perfectly  familiar  with  its  contents,  explaining  as  the 
leaves  were  turned,  "  Asia,"  "  Napoli,"  "  Sicilia,"  etc., 


TAORMINA.  Ill 

as  the  different  lands  and  cities  hove  in  view.  When 
the  exhibition  was  over  the  landlord  demanded  a  fee, 
and  followed  us  with  disparaging  remarks  because  we 
refused.  We  thought  we  were  quits  in  paying  him 
for  the  wine  he  had  so  hospitably  drunk. 

Still  farther  to  the  right  is  Monte  Venere,  nearly 
3,000  feet  above  the  sea.  There  the  to^n  is  shut  in 
on  the  west  by  this  shapely  peak,  a  contrast  to  the 
limitless  prospect  seaward.  But  the  chief  and  distin- 
guished feature  in  the  landscape  is  ^Etna,  which  rises 
up  into  the  blue  sky,  beyond  the  towers  and  mountains, 
beyond  the  slopes  verdant  with  olives,  oranges,  and 
vines,  beyond  the  fields  of  lava  and  the  reddish  crum- 
bling rocks,  ^tna  with  its  great  fields  of  snow,  hard 
and  shining,  the  dome-like  volcano,  remote,  in  an  ac- 
cessible majesty,  over  10,000  feet  above  the  classic 
and  smiling  shore. 

I  do  not  know  any  other  place  in  Eiu^ope  where  so 
much  is  combined  in  one  prospect,  the  sea,  the  shore, 
the  towns,  the  fertile  fields,  the  peaks  crowned  with 
ruins,  the  slopes  of  verdure,  fields  and  hills  of  classic 
and"  historic  charm,  aU  dominated  by  the  king  of  vol- 
canoes, shining  and  terrible.  Where  else  shall  we 
find  in  one  sweep  of  the  eye  so  much  of  beauty  and  of 
grandeur  ? 

And  this  prospect  the  ancient  Greeks  had  as  they 
sat  in  the  circular  seats  hewn  out  of  the  hill,  and  looked 
over  the  low  stage  of  their  theatre.  This  was  the  back- 
ground of  their  tragedy  and  comedy.  The  spectators 
in  the  higher  range  of  seats  commanded  a  wide  extent 
of  sea,  and  the  slopes  and  snow  of  ^tua. 


112      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

This  theatre  is  called  a  Greek  theatre,  and  the 
stage  is  said  to  be  in  the  most  perfect  condition  of 
any  extant.  It  has  been,  however,  so  wholly  remodeled 
by  the  Romans  as  to  have  very  little  of  the  Greek  left 
about  it,  except  the  ranks  of  amphitheatre  seats.  The 
stage  is  wholly  Roman,  built  over  and  raised  upon  the 
Greek  construction.  And  the  whole  (always  except- 
ing the  seats)  has  been  so  torn  away  for  other  build- 
ino-s,  and  built  over,  that  it  is  unsatisfactory  as  a  clas- 
sic  study.  Yet  nothing  can  be  finer  than  the  view 
throuo'h  its  broken  arches  and  columnar  spaces.  And 
there  is  no  place  where  one  may  more  satisfactorily 
dream  away  his  days  than  in  this  theatre.  Its  beauties 
are  very  weU  known.  One  day  I  counted  tw^enty  ama- 
teur artists,  of  both  sexes,  sketcliing  in  the  ruins. 
The  town  itself  has  great  charm  for  the  artist.  Indeed 
I  do  not  know  any  place  of  its  size  that  has  more  ar- 
chitectural surprises,  fascinating  street  glimpses,  lovely 
old  \viudows  and  doorways,  bits  of  towers  and  decayed 
palaces,  fountains  and  old  gateways.  An  artist,  in  any 
time  of  day  and  light,  need  never  want  subjects  for  his 
pencil.  In  the  centre  of  the  town  is  an  old  square 
with  a  bell  tower  that  was  very  pretty  before  the  peo- 
ple modernized  one  side  of  it  with  paint  and  a  clock 
face.  On  one  side  is  a  rubbishy  church  that  has  on 
the  balustrade  of  the  steps  four  plaster  figures  cut  off 
at  the  waist  and  planted  on  posts,  surrounded  by  sub- 
stantial red  flames  in  plaster,  like  some  species  of  hu- 
man aloes.  These,  male  and  female,  are  martyrs  or 
people  in  purgatory,  I  cannot  tell  wliich.     But  by  the 


TAORMINA.  113 

placid  expression  of  their  faces  tliey  appear  to  enjoy 
tlie  purifying  flames. 

In  the  ohl  tower  are  a  couple  of  bells  wliich  strike 
every  quarter  of  an  hour  clay  and  night,  loud  harsh 
strokes.  Each  time  they  strike  the  quarter  they  strike 
the  hour  also  —  for  instance,  for  10.45  they  make  three 
strokes  for  the  quarters  and  ten  for  the  hour.  There 
is  another  tower  close  by  that  has  also  spasms  of  bell 
ringing.  At  twelve  o'clock  at  night  I  counted  it  strik- 
ing 100  times,  at  four  in  the  morning  50  times,  and  so 
on.  A  person  who  seemed  to  me  a  fiend  used  to  climb 
up  that  tower  and  violently  ring  the  bells  at  all  hours, 
ringing  for  several  moments  at  a  time.  There  were 
also  three  or  four  other  bells  in  convents  and  churches 
that  also  struck  all  the  hours  and  were  always  on  the 
swing  for  some  religious  or  chronological  purpose,  so 
that  the  town  was  always  in  a  clamor  enough  to  dis- 
tract a  stranger.  I  lodged  at  first  m  the  HOtel  Bella 
Veduta,  close  under  the  big  tower.  You  enter  this 
hotel  through  an  archway  into  a  lovely  court  and  ter- 
race, the  walls  set  about  with  antique  marble  heads, 
inscriptions,  and  fragments  of  sculpture,  and  the  whole 
beautiful  with  vines,  and  roses,  and  semi-tropical  plants. 
From  its  terrace  is  a  wonderful  view.  From  the  ter- 
race of  my  room,  also,  I  enjoyed  a  wonderful  view  over 
the  sea,  and  of  the  Greek  theatre  and  its  height.  This 
was  all  very  well  in  the  daytime,  but  at  night  when 
we  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  lie  awake  and  count  the 
heavy  strokes  of  the  bells  every  quarter  of  an  hour.  It 
was  otherwise.     Nobody,  when  his  attention  is  called 


114      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

to  it,  can  go  to  sleep  in  fifteen  minutes.  He  simply 
lies  in  dreadful  expectation  of  tlie  next  strokes  of  the 
hammer. 

The  people  of  Taormina  are  as  picturesque  as  their 
town.  I  suppose  the  old  Greeks  wore  these  sheep-skins 
and  these  rags,  and  no  doubt  the  Greek  maidens  walked 
thus  erectly  with  jars,  the  pattern  of  the  amphora,  on 
their  heads.  No  doubt  they  also  had  brown  skins  and 
large  soft  brown  eyes,  and  looked  half  shyly  at  the 
passer-by,  and  held  out  their  hands  for  coin.  How 
straight  they  are,  and  how  firmly  and  freely  they  step 
out.  When  I  see  a  group  of  them  emerging  from  an 
archway  or  coming  down  the  street,  balancing  the  wa- 
ter-jar, or  the  load  of  stone,  or  other  heavy  burden,  on 
the  head,  chatting  and  laughing  gayly  with  apparent 
thought  of  nothing  but  the  sunshine  and  the  free  air, 
I  wonder  how  much  fashion  and  an  emancipating  ed- 
ucation would  do  for  them. 

My  companions  insist  that  the  scene  must  have  been 
very  different  when  the  real  old  Greeks  thronged  the 
streets  on  holidays  and  in  gay  flowing  robes  climbed 
the  hill  to  the  theatre  to  hear  one  of  the  tragedies  of 
Sophocles.  It  may  be.  But  I  find  the  pictures  of 
Theocritus  still  true.  I  doubt,  indeed,  if  the  shepherds 
and  shepherdesses  of  his  day  were  any  comelier  and 
any  cleaner  than  these  their  descendants.  Indeed, 
Ovid  and  Theocritus  no  doubt  wrote  of  a  poetic  age 
before  their  time,  as  our  poets  write  now  of  the  golden 
days  of  the  past. 

I  saw  in  the  streets,  day  after  day,  pictures  that  only 


TAORMINA.  115 

need  distance  to  be  as  fascinating  as  any  the  Greek 
poets  made.  Up  a  broad  lane  by  the  city  wall  is  a 
fountain,  coming  out  of  the  old  aqueduct.  The  wall 
whence  it  issues  into  a  stone  basin  is  painted,  and  the 
pink  color  is  subdued  by  time.  There  are  always  girls 
there  in  picturesque  attire,  filling  their  jars  and  gos- 
siping. I  saw  a  group  of  them  one  evening  at  sunset, 
while  up  the  lane  towards  the  fountain  trooped  a  flock 
of  goats  driven  by  children,  and  the  scene,  girls,  goats, 
children,  jars,  and  fountain,  was  exactly  such  as  Theoc- 
ritus would  have  sketched. 

The  prisons  that  I  have  observed  in  Sicily  are  on 
the  most  frequented  streets.  Commonly  the  grated 
windows  have  blinds  with  the  wooden  slats  so  arranged 
that  the  prisoner  can  neither  see  out  nor  be  seen 
from  the  sidewalk.  But  the  prison  at  Taormina  is 
more  friendly.  The  prisoners  at  their  gratings  can 
gossip  with  anybody  who  passes  by,  and  the  prison  is 
on  the  chief  street.  We  noticed  at  the  window,  day 
after  day,  a  pretty  woman,  with  soft  sweet  eyes,  and 
olive  complexion.  So  far  as  I  could  conjecture,  she 
woidd  have  been  handsome  if  she  had  been  washed. 
Generally  she  held  in  her  arms  a  young  child,  a  girl 
of  some  three  years  old.  It  was  her  sole  amusement 
to  watch  the  passers-by,  and  get  an  occasional  word 
from  them,  and  perhaps  a  copper  from  a  stranger.  I 
believe  the  prisoners  are  not  over-fed  in  these  places, 
and  a  bit  of  money  is  welcome.  The  young  woman 
was  one  of  the  prettiest  young  women  I  have  ever  seen 
in  jail,  and  her  face  was  altogether  most  pleasing, 


116     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

showing  good  temper  and  a  winning,  lovely  disposi- 
tion.    If  appearances  go  for  anything,  there  were  sev- 
eral women  outside  with  whom  she  might  have  changed 
places  to  the  profit  of  the  world.     We  do  not,  in  fact, 
in  our  imperfect  civilization,  select  our  people  for  the 
jails  with  much  discrimination.     This  sweet  girl  was 
sentenced  to  two  years  in  prison,  and  had  already  been 
immured  twenty  months.      I  was  curious  to  inquire 
what  peccadillo  had  deprived  the  world  of  her  society, 
and  I  learned  that  her  only  offense  was  stabbing  her 
husband,  who  after  all  was  not  killed,  but  ran  away. 
I  did  not  learn  the  story,  but  I  have  no  doubt  that  the 
husband  deserved  all  that  he  got,  and  probably  if  the 
law  could  take  proper  cognizance  of  such  offenses  as 
his,  he  woidd  have  been  shut  up,  and  his  ill-treated 
gentle  wife  would  have  been  presented  with  a  medal. 
We  were  obliged  to  come  away  and  leave  her  looking 
pretty,  out  of  her  bars. 

When  you  are  in  Taormina  you  ought,  at  least 
once,  to  get  up  at  dawTi  and  go  on  the  hill  above  the 
theatre,  and  see  the  sunrise.  The  performance  could 
be  improved  in  some  respects,  for  the  sun  here  comes 
out  of  the  sea  off  the  lower  point  of  Italy,  and  a  sun- 
rise at  sea  is  apt  to  be  tame.  But  you  cannot  else- 
where see  it  rise  and  throw  its  first  rays  on  Mt.  ^tna 
with  an  effect  so  fine.  It  happened  the  morning  I 
stood  on  the  hill  near  the  signal  station  that  there 
was  an  arrangement  of  clouds  which  made  an  irides- 
cent liffht  on  the  Mediterranean,  and  gave  an  un- 
speakable  splendor  to  the  sea  and  to  all  the  Calabrian 


TAORMINA.  117 

coast.  Before  that  was  developed,  however,  the  earli- 
est ray  of  the  sun  struck  the  white  dome  of  ^tna  and 
made  it  as  pink  as  a  garden  rose.  The  color  rapidly- 
spread  down  the  sides  of  snow  until  there  was  a  ruby 
dome  instead  of  the  white  mass  we  were  familiar  with. 
The  shadows  of  night  fell  down  also  from  the  slopes, 
and  gave  place  to  a  purple,  which  grew  deeper  and 
deeper  in  the  valleys  and  on  the  orange  groves,  luitil 
the  wave  of  morning  passed  over,  and  we  had  again 
the  everlasting  beauty  of  green  and  brown  slopes,  and 
fields  of  white  snow  under  the  deep  blue  sky. 


CHAPTEE  XII. 

SYRACUSE. 

The  impression  is  general  that  the  chief  attractions 
of  Syracuse  are  the  Ear  of  Dionysius,  and  the  exploit 
of  Archimedes  in  firing  the  sails  of  the  Roman  fleet 
with  his  burning-glass.  These  "  historic  facts,"  which 
have  as  much  basis  as  many  others  which  go  to  make 
up  a  person's  historical  information,  the  traveler  will 
speedily  replace  by  more  substantial  interests.  The 
so-called  Ear  of  Dionysius  is  only  an  arbitrary  locali- 
zation of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  the  story  of  the 
feat  of  Archimedes  grows  "thin  "  when  one  overlooks 
the  small  bay  called  the  Buon  Consiglio,  or  Bay  of 
Good  Counsel,  near  the  Capuchin  convent,  where  it  is 
said  to  have  been  performed.  One  seeks  in  vain  for 
the  tomb  of  the  great  mathematician,  though  a  more 
modern  Roman  one  is  shown  for  his.  There  is,  how- 
ever, in  the  present  city  a  square  named  for  him, 
in  the  pavement  of  which  stones  are  laid  in  circles, 
squares,  and  triangles,  supposed  to  represent  the  fa- 
mous mathematical  figures  which  the  old  Ben  Frank- 
lin of  Sicily  used  to  draw  in  the  sand. 

Syracuse  (or  Siracusa,  as  it  is  called  to-day)  was 
the  largest  and  most  imiDortant  of  the  Hellenic  cities. 


SYRACUSE.  119 

Strabo  says  it  was  twenty  miles  in  circumference. 
Against  its  impregnable  walls  the  power  of  Athens 
was  dashed  to  pieces  in  B.  c.  413,  and  the  city  of  the 
arts  lost  there  the  prestige  and  leadership  which  it 
never  recovered.  For  a  period  of  about  nine  centu- 
ries, down  to  the  year  212,  when  the  city  was  plundered 
of  its  valuables,  and  reduced  to  a  provincial  town  by 
the  Romans  under  Marcellus,  Syracuse,  with  varied 
fortune,  was  always  a  city  great  in  war,  and  distin- 
guished in  arts  and  letters.  It  was  many  times  at- 
tacked and  robbed  thereafter,  but  it  did  not  wholly 
lose  its  importance  till  the  year  828,  when  the  Sara- 
cens reduced  it  to  insignificance.  Of  all  the  cities  of 
the  ancient  world  that  have  had  a  continued  existence, 
after  a  fashion,  SjTacuse  is  now  the  most  desolate, 
impressive,  and  melancholy  waste.  Even  Girgenti  is 
hardly  so  swept  of  remains  of  power  and  prosperity. 
The  city  of  the  Middle  Ages  and  of  to-day  occupies 
only  the  small  walled  and  fortified  island  of  Ortygia, 
which  was  not  a  fifth  part,  though  it  was  the  oldest 
portion,  of  the  ancient  city,  which  is  reckoned  to  have 
had  half  a  million  inhabitants. 

The  railway  ride  down  the  coast  from  Catania 
offers  a  succession  of  lovely  sea  views,  but  passes 
much  of  the  way  over  low  land  which  is  extolled  of 
old  as  the  richest  grain-bearing  part  of  the  island,  and 
is  now  very  productive  of  malaria.  Especially  un- 
wholesome, I  shoidd  say,  is  the  neighborhood  of  tlie 
shallow,  waterfowl  haunted  lake  of  Lentini,  the  larg- 
est body  of  water  in  Sicily.     The  most  famous  of  the 


120     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

old  towns  we  toucliecl  is  Agosta  (now  called  Augusta), 
and  beyond  this  we  ran  along  the  Megarean  bay.  At 
Megara  was  an  old  Phoenician  settlement,  and  some 
interesting  relics  of  a  civilization  before  the  Greek 
occupation  have  recently  been  found  there.  I  saw 
some  rude  terra  cotta  heads  from  there,  upon  the  faces 
of  which  is  that  curious  indefinable  smile  that  is  the 
characteristic  of  nearly  all  the  statuary  discovered  by 
General  di  Cesnola  in  Cyprus.  We  saw  also  on  a 
hill  to  the  right  the  ancient  town  of  Melilli,  where  the 
Hyblsean  honey  so  loved  of  the  poets  was  made.  We 
were  not  fortunate  with  the  honey  of  Hyblse  that  we 
ate  at  Syracuse.  I  was  assured  that  delicious  honey 
was  procurable,  but  that  which  was  served  us  as  Hy- 
blsean may  have  been  as  old  as  any  remains  in  the 
city,  but  it  seemed  to  be  a  decoction  of  bees-wax  and 
stale  molasses,  and  I  doubt  if  any  bee  was  ever  con- 
cerned in  its  manufacture. 

The  railway  shirts  the  high  promontory  and  rocky 
plateau  upon  which  the  larger  portions  of  the  old  city 
stood,  follows  the  ancient  sea  wall,  and  comes  to  a 
station  on  the  main  line  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile 
from  the  present  city,  to  reach  which  we  pass  a  neck 
of  land,  cross  two  or  three  bridges,  and  drive  under 
arched  gateways  that  are  of  Spanish  construction. 

The  island  of  Ortygia  hangs  like  a  pendant  to  the 
promontory,  and  is  shaped  like  a  duck.  To  the  north 
of  it  a  bay  makes  in  forming  the  Little  Plarbor,  a 
very  small  harbor  for  the  historic  associations  it  car- 
ries.    On  the  west  of  the  island  is  the  spacious  Great 


SYRACUSE.  121 

Harbor,  where  tlie  Athenian  fleet  was  hemmed  in  and 
destroyed.     The  present  city  has  an  imposing  appear- 
ance from  the  heights  to  the  north  of  it  or  from  the 
harbor,  but  within  it  is  neither  clean  nor  interesting. 
When  you  have  seen  the  gigantic  fragments  of  a  par- 
tially excavated  temple  of  Apollo  —  the  oldest  struct- 
ure on  the  island  —  looked  at  the  gTcat  fluted  Doric 
columns  and  ancient  walls,  the  remains  of  the  temple 
of  Minerva,  which  form  a  part,  and  the  most  interest- 
ing part,  of  the  cathedral ;  strolled  along  the  Passegio 
Aretusa,    the   favorite  promenade  that  runs  above  a 
pretty  garden  along  the  harbor,  and  sat  and  meditated 
by  the  fountain  of  Arethusa,  you  have  done  your  duty 
as  a  tourist.     This  fountain,  which  is  spoken  of  with 
contempt  by  some  modern  travelers,  I  found  inviting 
and  even  poetic.     To  be   sure  it  is  a  deep  circular 
walled  pit  —  something  like  the  bear-pit  at  Berne  — 
but  it  is  clean,  its  water  bubbles  up  abundantly,  and 
the  Egyptain  papyrus  plant  flourishes  in  it.     Those 
who  say  that  this  is  not  a  natural  fountain  by  the  sea, 
but  is  an  opening  of  one  of  the  ancient  conduits  which 
pass  under  the  little  harbor,  and  brought  fresh  water 
from  the  plateau  of   Achradina,   would  destroy   the 
legend  of  Arethusa.     But  it  is  as  well  settled  as  such 
a  fact  can  be,  that  when  Arethusa,  the  nymph  of  Elis, 
was  pursued  by  a  river-god  named  Alpheus,  she  was 
changed   by   Diana   into    a   fountain   on    this    spot. 
When   the  weather  is  clear  you  can  see  Mt.  -3^tna 
from  the  Arethusian  promenade.     Indeed  this  noble 
volcano  exercises  a  sort  of  sovereignty  over  all  this, 


122      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

coast.  From  the  terrace  roof  of  our  hotel  it  appeared 
to  great  advantage  at  sunrise,  though  scarcely  so  ma- 
jestic and  deeply  rosy  as  when  seen  from  the  Greek 
theatre  at  Taormina.  It  is  one  of  the  few  objects 
that  can  coax  the  weary  traveler  out  of  his  bed  at 
dawn. 

We  found  in  Syracuse  another  Sicilian  hotel 
worthy  of  mention.  This  is  the  Locanda  del  Sole. 
It  is  only  about  half  as  dear  as  the  Vittoria,  which 
we  tried  first,  but  it  is  a  little  worse.  We  did  not 
understand  at  first  why  there  were  no  bells  in  any 
part  of  the  dirty  house,  but  we  soon  discovered  that 
there  was  nothing  to  be  had  if  we  could  have  rung  for 
it.  It  is  a  very  old  and  not  uninteresting  sort  of  bar- 
racks, and  its  rambling  terraces  give  good  views  of 
the  harbor  and  of  yEtna.  The  rooms,  too,  are  adorned 
with  quaint  old  prints  which  give  it  an  old-time  air. 
It  can  be  fairly  said  of  its  management  that  the  at- 
tendance is  as  good  as  the  food.  I  do  not  know  how 
long  it  would  take  to  starve  a  person  to  death  there, 
or  to  disg^ust  him  with  victuals  to  that  extent  that 
death  would  seem  preferable  to  dining,  but  we  touched 
close  upon  the  probable  limit  of  endurance  in  five 
days.  It  was  a  lengthy  campaign  of  a  morning  to 
get  a  simple  early  breakfast.  It  was  a  work  of  time, 
in  the  first  place,  to  find  anybody  to  serve  it.  When 
the  one  waiter  was  discovered  and  coaxed  into  the 
dininjr-room,  I  ordered  coffee  and  the  usual  accom- 
paniments.  In  about  fifteen  minutes  he  brought  in  a 
pot  of  muddy  liquid,  and  a  cup.     I  suggested  then, 


SYRACUSE.  123 

that,  in  reason,  a  spoon  ouglit  to  go  with  it.     A  spoon 
was   found  after  some  search  —  sugar  also  I  got  by 
impoi'tuuity.     The   procuring   of    milk  was  a  longer 
process.     Evidently  the   goat   had  to  be  hunted  up. 
By  the  time  the  goat  came  to  terms,  the  coffee  was 
cold.     I  then  brought  up  the  subject  of  bread.     That 
was    sent   out   for   and   delivered.     Butter   also   was 
called  for,  not  that  I  wanted  it  or  could  eat  it  when 
it  came,  but  because  butter  is  a  conventional  thing  to 
have  for  breakfast.     This  butter  was  a  sort  of  poor 
cheese  gone  astray.     The  last  article  to  be  got  was  a 
knife.     The   knives    were   generally   very    good,    or 
would  have  been  if  they  had  been  cleaned.     By  pa- 
tience after  this  you  could  have  a  red  mullet  and  an 
egg,    and    some    sour    oranges.     All   the   oranges  in 
Sicily  are  sour.     The  reason  given  for  this,  however, 
is   that    all  the  good  ones   are  shipped  to  America. 
The   reason   given   in    America   why    all   the    Sicily 
oranges   are  sour  is  that  the  good  ones  are  kept  at 
home.     When   the  traveler  reaches  Malta  and  Tan- 
gier he  will  learn  what  an  orange  really  is.     I  do  not 
know  that  I  can  say  anything  more  in  favor  of  the 
H8tel  Sole,  except  that  the  proprietors  were  as  indif- 
ferent to  our  departure  as  to  our  comfort  while  we 
stayed.     We  left  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  to  take  the 
boat  for  Malta.     We  procured  a  facchino  outside  to 
move  our  luggage,  and  not  a  soul  connected  with  the 
hotel  was  visible.     The  landlord  had  exhausted  him- 
seK  in  making  out  our  biUs.     There  was  some  diffi- 
culty in  separating  our  several  accounts,  and  when 


124      NOTES   OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

the  landlord  at  last  brought  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which 
the  various  items  were  set  in  order  and  the  figures 
were  properly  arranged,  he  regarded  his  work  with 
justifiable  pride  and  exclaimed  "  it  is  un  conto  magni- 
fico.'"  We  agreed  with  him  that  in  some  respects 
the  account  was  magnificent. 

The  old  city  consisted  of  five  distinct  parts.  The 
first  was  the  island  of  Ortygia,  the  oldest.  The  other 
four,  on  the  main-laud,  were  Achradina,  occupying  a 
plateau  of  limestone  rock  to  the  north  of  the  island  ; 
Tyche ;  Neapolis :  and  Epipolse,  the  highest  point  of 
the  city.  Dionysius  surrounded  the  main-land  city  by 
a  complete  wall,  which  was  built  between  the  years 
402  and  385  b.  c.  To  visit  the  various  portions  of 
the  vast  area  covered  by  the  old  city  requires  two  or 
three  days.  Any  description  of  it  would  not  be  intel- 
ligible to  the  reader  without  a  detailed  map. 

The  best  thing  the  traveler  can  do  first  is  to  drive 
to  the  northwest  some  five  miles  up  to  the  highest 
point  of  Epipolse,  take  a  seat  on  the  ruins  of  Fort 
Euryalus,  or  Mongibellesi,  and  study  the  scene  with 
Thucydides  in  hand.  There  you  have  the  whole  inter- 
esting locality  in  view,  and  by  the  aid  of  the  historian 
you  can  follow  the  famous  campaign  which  was  so 
disastrous  to  the  Athenians,  and  trace  the  operations 
of  the  conquering  Roman  general,  Marcellus,  200 
years  later.  The  view  of  the  Great  Harbor,  and  of 
the  walled  city  on  it,  of  the  vast  marshy  plain  west 
of  the  harbor,  through  which  the  river  Anapo  runs, 
across  which  the   despairing  Athenians  attempted  to 


SYRACUSE.  125 

retreat,  and  of  tlie  rock-strewn  site  of  the  main-land 
cities,  is  exceedingly  impressive.  Perhaps  nothing  at 
Syracuse  is  so  impressive  as  this  general  view  over 
a  now  almost  desolate  stony  waste,  that  was  once  the 
scene  of  a  splendid  civilization.  But  there  are  some 
details  that  must  be  mentioned. 

Fort  Euryalns,  on  its  rock  eminence,  the  vastest  and 
most  nearly  perfect  Greek  fortress  extant,  gives  one  a 
new  idea  of  the  military  genius  of  tliis  wonderful  peo- 
ple. The  inclosure  and  the  fort  towers  are  a  heap  of 
ruins,  but  the  extensive  and  spacious  subterranean  pas- 
sages and  galleries,  hewn  out  of  the  solid  rock,  rooms 
for  the  magazines,  for  the  stabling  of  horses  and  the 
shelter  of  the  soldiers,  and  passages  communicating 
with  the  city  of  Epipolse,  attest  the  skill  and  enter- 
prise of  those  who  made  them.  For  me  they  much 
surpass  in  interest  the  famous  rock-galleries  at  Gibral- 
tar, and  I  think  they  were  of  more  use  in  their  day. 

Without  any  attempt,  which  would  only  confuse  the 
reader,  to  locate  the  places  I  shall  name,  I  will  speak 
of  a  few  of  the  remains  of  antiquity  which  we  visited. 
The  Greek  theatre,  in  the  quarter  of  Neapolis,  one  of 
the  largest  of  the  kind,  and  well  preserved  in  most 
of  its  seats  and  the  ground  plan  of  its  stage,  is  hewn 
out  of  the  rock  of  the  hill,  in  semi-circular  form. 
Like  all  Greek  theatres  I  have  seen,  a  magnificent 
view  is  commanded  from  its  seats.  Back  of  it  on 
the  hill  are  streets  of  rock  tombs.  It  was  only  a  step 
from  the  play-house  to  the  grave,  and  this  juxtapo- 
sition perhaps  proves  that  the  Greeks  did  not  asso- 


126      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

ciate  gloomy  ideas  with  death.  This  old  theatre  is 
a  sunny,  pleasing  lounging  place  for  an  idle  man,  who 
can  at  his  leisure  conjure  up  the  drama  and  the  spec- 
tators of  more  than  two  thousand  years,  ago.  Your 
imagination  is  assisted  by  several  Greek  inscriptions, 
and  the  names  are  still  to  be  read  of  King  Hiero  and 
of  the  queens  Philistis  and  Nereis.  Of  Philistis  I 
believe  nothing  is  certainly  known  except  her  head  on 
the  loveliest  Greek  coin  extant,  but  she  is  supposed  to 
have  been  the  wife  of  Hiero  II.  If  this  was  a  good 
portrait  of  her  on  the  coin,  she  was  the  handsomest 
type  of  a  pure  vroman  whose  features  art  has  trans- 
mitted to  us  from  antiquity.  The  head  in  its  graceful 
drapery  strikingly  resembles  one  of  the  most  lovely 
of  all  the  representations  of  the  Virgin  IMary,  and  I 
should  not  wonder  if  some  Christian  artist  made  the 
face  on  this  coin  his  model.  Gorgo  and  Praxinoe, 
two  lively  Syracusrai  gossips  in  Alexandria,  immortal- 
ized by  Theocritus,  might  have  sat  in  these  seats. 

The  Eoman  amphitheatre  was  built  in  the  time  of 
Augustus,  and  is  a  very  good  specimen  of  Roman  work, 
massive,  and  intended  for  a  more  brutal  amuaement 
than  the  Greeks  indulged  in,  the  parent  of  the  national 
pastime  of  Sixain.  Near  this  amphitheatre  is  the  so- 
called  altar  of  Hiero  II.,  a  stone  platform  over  six 
hundred  feet  long,  with  steps  on  every  side,  on  which 
it  is  thought  were  sacrificed  four  hundred  and  fifty 
oxen  annually,  to  commemorate  the  expulsion  of  the 
tyrant  Thrasybulus.  It  looks  rather  like  the  platform 
of  an  enormous  temple. 


SYRACUSE.  127 

The  objects  which  will  most  surprise  and  delight  the 
visitor  to  Syracuse  are  the  ancient  quarries,  called  La- 
tomiae,  perpendieidar  excavations  of  one  hundred  feet 
or  more  in  the  solid  rock  of  the  plateau,  out  of  which 
the  stone  was  taken  to  build  the  city.  The  principal 
are  the  Latomia  del  Paradiso,  the  Cappuccini,  the  Ca- 
sale,  and  the  St.  Venere.  These  vary  in  extent  and  in 
beauty,  but  all  have  the  same  general  character.  The 
larger  have  an  area  of  several  acres.  When  you  de- 
scend into  one  of  them  you  find  yourself  in  the  most 
luxuriant  and  sweet-smelling  garden  you  can  imagine. 
The  high  and  evenly-cut  walls  are  hung  with  ivy  which 
spreads  in  great  masses  of  green  from  gigantic  stems. 
The  rich  soil  of  the  bottom  makes  to  flourish  the 
orange  and  the  lemon  and  a  wilderness  of  graceful 
plants  and  ever-blooming  flowers.  The  air  is  vocal 
with  the  songs  of  birds.  Out  of  this  paradise  of  scents 
and  color  one  looks  up  to  a  sky  as  blue  as  sapphire. 
The  excavations  are  irregular.  Here  a  single  column 
of  rock  has  been  left  by  the  quarryman ;  here  a  pas- 
sage has  been  opened  into  another  enormous  apart- 
ment, vaster  and  more  impressive  than  any  cathedral. 
Here  the  rock  has  been  cut  under  and  we  are  in  a  vast 
vaulted  chamber,  the  ceiling  of  which  has  acquired  by 
some  chemical  change  a  pink  tinge,  as  if  It  had  been 
decorated  for  a  ball  room.  Indeed  a  superb  ball  was 
given  not  many  years  ago  in  one  of  these  cyclop  cham- 
bers. 

These  ancient  quarries  have  been  used  In  past  times 
for  various  purposes,  for  prisons  and  for  biu'ial  places, 


128      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

before  they  were  turned  into  gardens.  In  the  largest, 
the  Cappuccini,  it  is  supposed  that  the  seven  thousand 
captive  Athenians  were  confined  in  413  B.  C,  until 
they  perished  of  alternate  cold  and  heat  and  thirst 
and  hunger  ;  it  was  then  a  horrible  pit  of  death,  im- 
possible to  be  conceived  from  its  present  smiling  as- 
pect. Of  the  seven  thousand,  the  few  survivors  were 
sold  as  slaves,  although  it  is  said  that  all  those  were 
set  at  liberty  who  could  recite  the  verses  of  Euripides. 
Ths  Paradiso  is  more  wild  and  gloomy  than  the 
othef  quarries,  although  not  so  beautiful,  but  it  is  more 
famous  because  it  contains  the  Ear  of  Dionysius.  This 
Ear  is  one  of  the  historic  frauds.  The  story  was  that 
Dionysius  had  the  rock  hewn  in  the  form  of  an  ear,  so 
that  by  stationing  himself  in  a  proper  place,  he  could 
hear  what  the  prisoners  below  said,  and  enjoy  their 
lamentations.  There  is  a  winding  and  lofty  excava- 
tion in  one  part  of  the  quarry  not  unlike  the  passage 
of  a  giant  ear,  and  from  above  there  is  a  gallery  lead- 
ins:  down  to  a  small  chamber  communicating  with  it. 
It  is  evident,  however,  that  in  making  this  singidar 
carved  hall,  the  quarrymen  were  only  following  a  par- 
ticular vein  of  stone.  The  grotto  has  extraordinary 
acoustic  properties.  A  whisper  made  at  the  entrance 
can  be  heard  in  the  remote  chamber  above,  and  the  cav- 
ern srives  back  the  most  remarkable  echoes  and  rever- 
berations.  The  slamming  of  the  wooden  door  at  the 
entrance  produces  a  sound  resembling  thunder  or  the 
discharge  of  artillery,  and  the  tearing  of  a  bit  of  paper 
at  the  same  place  sounds  like  the  crack  of  a  revolver. 


SYRACUSE.  129 

It  was  Caravaggio,  who  was  down  this  way  In  the  six- 
teenth century  to  execute  some  sacred  pictures  for  the 
churches,  who  named  this  gi'otto  the  Ear  of  Dionysius. 

Those  who  have  a  taste  for  looking  about  in  cata- 
combs will  find  here  the  most  extensive  in  the  world. 
They  are,  I  believe,  miles  in  extent,  and  their  passages 
are  much  broader  and  more  agreeable  than  those  at 
Rome.  Arched  rooms,  with  loculi  on  all  sides  for  bod- 
ies, and  small  chapels  abound  in  them.  It  is  thought 
that  they  were  begun  and  used  as  burial  places  by  the 
Greeks,  and  qpntinued  by  the  Romans  and  early  Chris- 
tians. Not  many  years  ago  a  German  professor  and 
a  party  of  students  were  lost  and  perished  in  these  lab- 
yrinths. Since  then  daylight  has  been  let  in,  in  va- 
rious places  from  above.  We  followed  the  guide  about 
among  the  tombs  for  a  while,  but  a  very  little  of  cata- 
combs is  enough  for  me. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  of  the  modern  sites  is 
the  church  of  St.  Giovanni,  for  underneath  it  is  the 
oldest  church  in  Sicily,  called  the  crypt  of  St.  Marciau, 
the  friend  and  contemporary  of  St.  Paid.  In  this  damp 
and  gloomy  subterranean  chapel,  rock-hewn,  it  is  said 
that  St.  Marcian  was  martyred,  and  that  we  see  his 
tomb  here.  Here,  also,  we  were  shown  the  altar  at 
which  St.  Paul  officiated  during  his  sojourn  of  three 
days  at  Syracuse.  On  the  walls  are  some  remains  of 
quaint  old  frescoes.  I  do  not  vouch  for  all  this,  since 
it  is  probable  that  the  crypt  is  of  the  fourth  century. 

We  made  the  last  day  of  our  stay  an  excursion  up 
the  swift  and  tui'bulent  river  Anapo,  to  \asit  the  Cyane 


130      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

fountain.  We  crossed  tlie  Great  Harbor  and  ran 
aground  in  our  big,  clumsy  boat  long  before  we  came 
to  the  mouth  of  the  river,  so  that  the  boatmen  had  to 
jump  overboard  and  push  the  boat  over  the  bar  into 
the  stream.  The  river  is  narrow  as  well  as  swift,  and 
bordered  by  high  banks  of  mud.  Sometimes  we  could 
row,  oftener  we  poled,  and  a  considerable  part  of  the 
way  the  men  got  ashore  and  towed  us  with  a  rope,  as 
the  Egyptian  boatmen  "  track."  There  was  much  in 
this  whole  awkward,  lazy  proceeding  to  remind  us  of 
the  Orient,  and  not  the  least  reminiscences  of  it  were 
the  peculiar  minor  songs  of  the  laborers  that  came  to 
us  from  over  the  flats.  Throughout  eastern  Sicily  one 
hears  this  peculiar  singing,  by  which  the  Eastern  ori- 
gin of  the  people  is  shown.  For  an  hour  or  two  we 
could  see  nothing  in  this  ditch,  and  but  for  the  fact 
that  we  knew  we  were  passing  through  classic  gTound 
there  was  not  much  to  keep  up  our  spirits. 

At  length  the  banks  fell  away,  and  we  came  to  the 
open  marshy  land,  over  which  we  could  see  Syracuse 
and  2Etna,  and  our  eyes  were  delighted  with  the  lux- 
uriant and  lofty  papyrus  plants.  This  plant,  which  is 
almost  extinct  in  Egypt,  grows,  I  believe,  nowhere  else 
in  Europe.  One  account  is  that  the  Arabs  introduced 
it  here,  another  that  one  of  the  Ptolemies  sent  it  over 
as  a  present  to  some  fellow  king.  It  flourishes  splen- 
didly, and  is  a  very  beautiful  object.  The  straight 
stalk  shoots  up  from  six  to  fifteen  feet,  and  is  crowned 
by  a  feathering  top.  A  group  of  these  classic  plants 
is  very  graceful.     The  papyrus  paper  is  made  from 


SYRACUSE.  131 

the  stalks,  which  are  cut  in  thin  slices,  laid  close  to- 
gether, and  with  slices  laid  transversely.  This  soft, 
fibrous  substance  is  then  passed  between  rollers  and 
dried.  The  result  exactly  resembles  the  Egyptian  pa- 
pyrus. 

The  fountain  of  Cyane,  from  which  this  full  stream 
issues,  is  a  bubbling  pool  some  fifty  feet  in  diameter, 
and  perhaps  thirty  feet  in  depth.  In  its  ordinary  con- 
dition it  is  very  clear,  and  the  fish  can  be  seen  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  It  is  related  that  the  nymph  Cyane 
was  metamorphosed  into  this  fountain  by  Pluto  when 
she  opposed  his  carrying  off  Proserpine,  and  it  was 
down  this  watery  hole  that  he  dragged  his  prey  into 
the  infernal  regions.  The  pool  is  very  pretty,  set 
about  as  it  is  by  the  graceful  papyrus.  But  I  think 
the  present  infernal  region  lies  all  about  it  in  the  ma- 
larious meadows.  Our  guide  somewhat  resented  the 
imputation  of  unhealthfulness  which  we  put  upon  all 
this  region,  and  to  refute  it  related  the  story  of  an 
American  lady  who  came  ill  to  Syracuse.  "  She  hired 
a  villa  on  the  hill,  by  the  Cappuccini  convent,  bought 
a  cow  and  had  plenty  of  milk,  got  well  in  a  few  weeks, 
and  went  back  to  America  and  married  a  species  of 
poet." 

A  milk  diet,  and  union  with  a  "  species  of  poet,"  is 
better  than  being  converted  into  a  fountain. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MALTA. 

There  are  three  picturesque  things,  at  least,  in  the 
island  of  Malta ;  the  scarlet  coats  of  the  soldiers  ;  the 
crimson  fields  of  clover ;  and  the  hlack  f  aid etta  of  the 
women. 

First  place  to  the  dames.  On  first  sight  of  the  women 
of  Malta,  gliding  about  the  streets  in  black,  you  think 
they  have  thrown  their  skirts  over  their  heads.  But 
they  have  not.  The  f  aid etta  is  a  combination  of  hood 
and  cape.  Take  a  black  silk  apron,  gather  it  close  at 
the  top  with  several  runnings  and  put  a  whalebone 
through  one  side  at  the  edge,  so  as  to  form  a  hood. 
This  sort  of  hood  is  then  thrown  over  the  head,  the 
"  gathers  "  coming  at  one  side,  drawn  so  closely  that  it 
makes  a  curve,  and  the  apron  falling  obliquely  across 
the  back.  It  can  be  drawn  across  the  face  so  as  to 
conceal  everything  except  the  eyes.  And  the  large 
eyes  of  soft  brown  are  the  last  things  you  or  the  women 
would  wish  to  conceal.  The  costume  is  a  relic  of  the 
Saracenic  days,  and  is  one  of  the  many  signs  of  Moor- 
ish descent. 

This  is  a  very  clumsy  description  of  a  most  fascinat- 
ing garment.     It  gives  a  piquant  interest  even  to  an 


MALTA.  133 

ugly  woman  —  and  Providence  for  our  sins  still  per- 
mits ugly  women  —  but  it  adds  a  charm  to  a  pretty 
woman  that  is  quite  bewildering.  Mind,  this  is  not 
my  opinion  that  I  venture  to  give,  but  that  of  European 
ladies  whom  I  have  consulted.  Perhaps  I  might  not 
have  noticed  them  otherwise. 

All  .the  Maltese  ladies,  as  well  as  the  common  peo- 
ple, wear  the  faldetta  to  church,  though  on  other  occa- 
sions European  hats  are  gaining  ground  with  the  higher 
classes.  I  am  speaking  at  length  of  this  costume  be- 
cause groups  of  these  figures  in  the  street  or  thronging 
the  churches  are  the  feature  of  the  town.  The  faldetta 
is  always  worn  with  a  black  skirt,  but  some  bright  color 
is  often  worn  about  the  netik,  or  for  the  bodice,  together 
with  heavy  gold  necklaces,  and  the  glimpse  of  this  half- 
hidden  warmth  of  color  that  the  faldetta  permits  in 
contrast  with  the  prevailing  black  is  very  effective. 
It  is  perhaps  the  most  coquettish  devotional  garment 
ever  invented  by  the  contradictory  nature  of  the  sex. 
I  have  given  much  reflection  (while  we  are  waiting 
here  for  a  steamer  to  Gibraltar)  to  the  reason  of  its 
peculiar  charm,  and  I  think  it  lies  in  this,  that  it  gives 
to  its  wearer  the  mystifying  appearance  of  a  demure 
nun  and  a  dangerous  adventuress.  How  much  the 
large,  soft  brown  eyes  and  the  clear,  creamy  INIoorish 
complexion  have  to  do  with  it  is  a  scientific  question. 
When  one  of  the  knights  of  Malta  saw  one  of  these 
ladies  of  oriental  suggestion  glide  out  of  the  church 
from  her  devotions,  and  permit  the  faldetta,  as  she 
passed  him  at  the  church  door,  to  disclose  one  flash  of 


134     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

her  entreating  eyes,  if  he  did  not  follow  her  at  least 
with  his  own  eyes,  he  was  not  the  gallant  combination 
of  priest  and  soldier  that  I  have  supposed  him  to  be. 
But  I  am  getting  beyond  my  depth.  What  I  wish  to 
say  is  that  if  the  sex  wish  to  look  both  devout  and  fas- 
cinating, the  f aldetta  is  the  best  invention  of  their  gen- 
ius. I  am  told,  however,  that  it  is  not  a  comfortable 
garment  in  a  warm  climate,  and  that  the  wearing  it 
tends  to  produce  baldness.  And  when  we  get  to  a 
bald  woman  it  is  time  to  change  the  subject. 

The  scarlet  troops  go  along  with  the  giant  fortifica- 
tions. I  do  not  know  much  about  either,  but  for  my 
entertainment  I  prefer  the  scarlet  coats  of  this  sort  of 
soldier  to  the  red  legs  of  the  French  variety.  With 
a  white  pith  hat  they  are  very  effective,  and  the  rosy, 
manly  British  soldier  is  a  decided  contrast  to  the 
scraggy,  undersized  Frenchman  engaged  in  that  occu- 
pation. Certainly  these  fellows  make  a  fine  appear- 
ance in  review  —  there  are  now  some  five  or  six  regi- 
ments on  the  island,  besides  a  battalion  in  blue  with 
the  Maltese  cross  on  the  shoulder,  recruited  entirely 
from  natives.  And  the  regimental  bands  are  excellent. 
It  is  a  great  treat  to  hear  some  good  music,  both  in  the 
streets  and  in  the  churches,  after  being  so  long  in  Italy. 

I  can  understand  of  the  two  anachronisms  the  sol- 
dier better  than  the  fortifications,  but  these  fortifica- 
tions impress  me,  and  if  I  were  required  to  take  (not 
as  a  gift  but  by  force)  some  city,  I  should  not  begin  on 
this  La  Valetta,  the  capital  of  the  island.  La  Valetta, 
which  was  foimded  and  fortified  by  the  grand  master 


3IALTA.  135 

of  that  name,  is  on  a  high,  long,  rocky  peninsula,  an 
arm  of  the  sea  on  either  side,  crowned  with  solid  houses, 
half  its  streets  stairways ;  it  frowns  down  on  you  on  all 
its  water  sides,  and  on  the  land  side,  a  mass  of  grim 
masonry  and  natural  rock.  I  've  been  looking  about 
a  good  deal,  and  I  cannot  find  a  spot,  a  gateway,  a  de- 
file, or  fosse,  or  angle,  or  whatever  you  call  it,  that  is 
not  swept  by  some  murderous  guns.  It  is  all  bastions, 
and  batteries,  and  ramparts,  and  on  the  land  side  gates 
with  covered  ways,  and  so  guarded  by  monstrous  works 
that  no  amount  of  men,  without  a  pass  from  the  gov- 
ernor, could  get  in. 

The  main  harbor,  deep  and  long  and  winding,  has  in 
it'several  little  bays  where  vessels  lie,  vessels  of  war, 
troop  ships  from  India,  with  sailors  in  white  apparel, 
and  steamers  from  all  the  Mediterranean  ports.  The 
day  I  came  in  there  was  an  American  corvette  lying- 
there,  sent  for  aught  I  know  during  Mr.  Blaine's  ad- 
ministration, to  spy  out  what  we  could  do  with  John 
Bull  in  case  he  trod  on  the  tall  of  the  Monroe  Doctrine. 
But  I  was  glad  to  see  the  dear  old  flag  all  the  same, 
and  felt  a  sense  of  absolute  security  as  long  as  it  stayed 
here.  It  has  now  gone  to  protect  Leghorn.  This  har- 
bor is  not  only  very  impressive  with  its  surrounding 
fortifications,  but  it  is  gay  mth  hundreds  of  small 
boats,  not  the  clmnsy  tubs  of  Italian  waters,  but  sharp 
and  slender  craft,  apt  to  be  painted  green  and  adorned 
with  pictures,  and  with  high,  blade-like  prows  at  each 
end.  They  suggest,  but  do  not  resemble,  the  gondolas 
of  Venice,  when  seen  at. a  distance,  as  they  are  pro- 


136     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

pellecl  by  oars  that  are  pushed  by  the  boatman,  who 
stands  erect,  face  to  the  prow.  This  is  much  better  for 
the  chest  than  pulling,  and  I.  wish  our  college  crews 
would  adopt  this  style.  They  could  not  make  as  good 
speed  in  a  race  as  they  do  in  their  shells,  but  they 
would  display  their  fine  figures  to  much  better  advan- 
tage to  the  spectators. 

And  now  about  the  clover.  Malta  is  an  island  large 
enough  to  have  twenty-seven  cities  and  villages  on  it. 
The  total  population  is  something  about  150,000,  of 
whom  some  70,000  are  in  La  Valetta.  It  is  an  uneven 
but  not  a  lofty  island,  and  is  pretty  much  all  limestone 
rock.  When  you  look  over  it  it  seems  to  be  nearly  all 
stone  walls,  fencing  in  small  fields,  —  in  fact  it  beats 
western  Massachusetts  for  stone  walls.  It  is  absolutely 
denuded  of  trees,  except  the  fruit  trees  in  gardens,  and 
a  few  planted  here  and  there  for  ornament.  The  pre- 
vailing hue  of  the  island  is  therefore  gray  —  the  rocks, 
the  towns,  the  stone  walls.  Imagine,  therefore,  in  this 
gray  setting  everywhere  patches  of  most  brilliant  crim- 
son. This  is  the  clover  (called  here  sulla)  now  in  full 
flower.  Its  stalk  is  much  longer  and  stouter  than  our 
red  clover,  its  leaves  are  larger,  and  the  flower  is  on  a 
long  spike,  each  petal  by  itself,  and  the  petals  not 
grouped  in  the  form  of  a  bee-hive  like  ours.  But  the 
flower  is  beautiful,  and  anything  more  brilliant  than 
these  crimson  fields  contrasted  with  the  gray  stone  and 
the  deep  green  of  the  wheat  you  will  not  see  elsewhere. 

In  this  English  free  port,  there  is,  by  the  way,  a  duty 
on  wheat  —  I  suppose  to  protect  its  growth  here.     For 


MALTA.  '■  137 

all  the  island  is  so  rocky  it  is  very  fertile,  growing  va- 
rious grains  and  vegetables,  and  even  some  cotton,  and 
producing  the  most  luscious  oranges,  fine  lemons,  figs, 
nespoli  (the  Japanese  medlar),  etc.  One  sees  now  and 
then,  near  a  palace,  and  in  the  lovely  garden  of  the 
governor,  and  in  others,  abundance  of  flowers,  and 
semi-tropical  trees  and  shrubs.  In  the  governor's  gar- 
den the  oranges  and  lemons  are  now  in  full  bloom,  and 
the  odor  is  almost  overpowering. 

As  we  drove  out  the  day  before  Good  Friday,  to 
Citta  Vecchia,  the  old  city  of  the  knights,  the  first  cap- 
ital of  the  island,  and  in  its  centre,  I  noticed  the  flags 
at  half-mast,  and  asked  our  Maltese  driver  why. 

"  Don't  you  know  dat  ?     God  died  to-day." 

"  Not  till  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  he  begin  to-day." 

The  island  is  strongly  Roman  Catholic,  and  very  de- 
vout so  far  as  ceremonies  go.  The  Maltese  have  the 
reputation  of  being  the  most  evasive,  lying  s^dndlers 
and  cheats  in  the  Mediterranean.  So  far  as  I  have 
come  in  contact  with  the  natives,  they  sustain  their 
reputation,  —  of  course  I  should  except,  on  sight,  the 
w^omen  of  the  faldetta,  unless  they  are  trying  with  their 
brown  eyes  to  coax  you  to  buy  lace.  Our  driver  was 
a  typical  specimen  of  the  most  perfectly  exasperating 
falseness  and  impudence,  and  it  was  owdng  to  his  mu- 
tiny that  we  did  not  see  the  grotto  where  Calypso  was 
not  able  to  console  herself  after  the  departure  of  Ulys- 
ses.    But  we  saw  the  grotto  of  St.  Paul. 

I  should  have  preferred  to  see  the  grotto  of  Calypso. 


138     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

Because  if  there  ever  was  such  a  man  as  Schliemann, 
and  he  is  correct  in  his  notion  that  there  was  a  poet 
Homer,  and  if  there  is  historic  ground  for  a  belief  in 
a  hero  named  Ulysses,  then  it  cannot  be  proved  that 
the  island  of  Malta  or  Melite  is  not  identical  with  the 
island  of  Ogygia  mentioned  by  Homer  as  the  summer 
residence  of  Calypso.  And  if  I  could  have  seen  her 
grotto  (which  is  perfectly  plain  to  be  seen,  with  a  fair 
day  and  a  decent  driver)  it  would  have  gone  far  in  my 
mind  towards  the  identification  of  Mr.  Schliemann. 

But  everybody  knows  that  St.  Paul  was  in  Melite 
and  that  he  stayed  here  three  years.  But  I  confess 
that  a  cave  cut  out  of  the  soft  rock  under  the  church  of 
St.  Paul,  at  Citta  Vecchia,  in  the  centre  of  the  island, 
as  shown  to  me,  did  not  serve  to  bring  much  nearer 
the  presence  of  the  great  Apostle  to  the  Gentiles.  I 
have  seen  so  many  caves  of  this  sort.  Here  is  the  cave 
where  he  prayed  for  three  years,  and  adjoining  is  tho 
chapel,  also  in  the  rock,  where  he  "  said  mass." 

We  drove  some  three  miles  over  to  the  bay  where 
St.  Paul  landed,  when  he  was  shipwrecked.  It  is  a 
lovely  little  indentation  in  the  coast,  the  entrance  par- 
tially closed  by  St.  Paul's  Island.  It  was  here,  some- 
where on  the  sand,  that  the  fire  was  built  for  the  ship- 
wrecked passengers,  out  of  which  the  viper  came  that 
fastened  on  the  apostle's  hand.  It  would  have  been 
much  more  convenient  for  tourists  if  the  cave  had  been 
placed  near  the  bay.  Baedeker  (whose  guide-book  for 
southern  Italy  and  Sicily  I  advise  everybody  to  shun, 
as  Y/holly  inadequate  and  inaccurate)  says  in  one  edi- 


MALTA.  139 

tion  tliat  St.  Paul  landed  here  b.  c.  56,  and  converted 
some  of  the  inhabitants  to  Christianity.  This  would 
go  to  prove  that  Paul  was,  like  some  of  our  Unitarians, 
a  Christian  before  and  without  reference  to  Christ. 
Probably  some  orthodox  person  pointed  out  this  pe- 
culiarity to  Baedeker,  for  in  a  subsequent  edition  he 
lauds  Paul  here  a.  d.  61.  Somewhere  here  on  the 
north  side  of  the  island  he  doubtless  did  come  on 
shore,  and  the  tempest  could  not  have  selected  for  him 
a  lovelier  bay  than  this.  The  grotto  of  Calypso  is  in 
another  little  bay  just  over  the  high  ridge.  Perhaps 
it  was  owing  to  the  piety  and  not  the  "  cussedness  "  of 
our  Maltese  driver  that  he  was  willing  to  show  us  the 
site  of  the  miracle  of  St.  Paul  and  not  the  scene  of  the 
wiles  of  the  nymph,  who  no  doubt  fascinated  Ulysses 
by  wearing  a  faldetta.  At  any  rate  one  of  the  chief 
charms  of  the  island  is  the  story  of  St.  Paul. 

The  romantic  interest,  however,  is  in  the  evidences 
of  the  presence  of  the  heroic  Knights  of  St.  John  of 
Malta,  and  the  vestiges  of  the  magnificence  of  their 
Grand  Masters.  The  best  fish,  by  the  way,  put  on  our 
table,  fried,  a  little  larger  than  the  red  mullet,  with  a 
delicate  white  meat,  is  called  the  Grand  Master,  a  del- 
icate compliment  to  the  Order. 

It  is  in  the  highly  stucco-decorated  cathedral  here 
that  you  see  the  chapels  of  the  Grand  Masters,  and  a 
few  of  their  tombs  with  statues  as  odious,  in  the  Ber- 
nini style,  as  anything  in  Westminster  Abbey.  The 
pavement  is  composed  of  slabs  of  marble,  mosaic,  and 
often  lovely  in  color  and  design,  marking  the  tombs 


140      NOTES    OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

of  the  knights.  This  pavement  gives  a  solid  richness 
to  the  otherwise  tawdry  church  of  St.  John.  But  it 
is  in  the  armory  hall  in  the  governor's  palace  that  you 
will  see  the  relics  and  trophies  of  the  bravest  and  pur- 
est military  defenders  of  Christianity,  the  order  in 
which  the  proud  humility  of  the  Christian  blazed  forth, 
in  that  strange  commingling  of  the  cassock  of  the 
priest  with  the  mail  of  the  soldier.  About  this  hall, 
and  in  the  passage  to  it,  stand  the  figures  of  knights 
in  armor.  The  French  plundered  the  armory,  when 
Napoleon  was  on  his  thieving  expedition  to  Egypt,  but 
many  curious  and  rich  things  are  left,  fine  suits  of 
armor  inlaid,  and  hundreds  of  ingenious  murderous 
weapons.  There  are  cannon,  twelve  feet  long  and  not 
much  bigger  than  a  grizzly  bear  rifle,  loading  at  the 
breech,  300  years  old  ;  an  air  gun  as  old ;  a  cannon, 
500  years  old,  brought  from  Rhodes,  made  of  ropes 
twisted  and  cemented,  and  covered  outside  with  leather, 
having  a  thin  copper  coating  inside.  H^re  is  a  great 
quantity  of  old  majolica  brought  from  the  hospital  of 
St.  John  in  Jerusalem,  and  from  Rhodes,  the  relics  of 
the  order  when  it  had  its  seat,  successively,  in  the  city 
of  David,  and  the  city  of  the  Colossus.  Here  is  the 
original  bull,  signed  and  sealed,  by  which,  in  1113, 
Pope  Pascal  took  the  order  of  the  Knights  under  his 
protection,  and  here  is  the  charter  of  the  Emperor 
Charles  V.,  fomiding  the  order  of  the  Knights  of 
Malta,  at  Malta,  in  1530.  More  interesting  than  any- 
thing else,  perhaps,  is  the  long  trumpet  that  sounded 
the  retreat  on  that  disastrous  day  ui  Rhodes,  in  Decem- 


MALTA.  141 

ber,  1522,  after  the  most  heroic  defence  that  a  few 
ever  made  against  a  host  of  foes.  I  liked  also,  very 
much,  the  armor  of  one  of  the  old  Knights  who  is 
called  the  Spanish  giant.  He  was  seven  feet  six 
mches  in  height,  and  his  armor  is  proportioned  to 
such  a  sta^ture.  I  took  up  his  ordinary  hat,  not  the 
one  with  a  visor,  just  a  mere  iron  pot,  weighing 
twenty-seven  pounds,  but  did  not  put  it  on.  It  is, 
like  the  ordinary  English  tall  hat,  made  to  last  for 
a  generation. 

We  were  shown  also  the  portraits  of  the  Grand 
Masters  and  the  state  carriage  in  which  they  used  to 
drive.  It  has  an  additional  interest  because  Napoleon 
used  it  when  he  occupied  Malta,  and,  Philistine  that 
he  was,  daubed  over  the  gilded  body  of  it  with  paint. 

On  the  night  of  April  8th  was  a  procession  of 
images,  representing  the  Passion  and  the  crucifixion, 
as  one  sees  it  in  Seville  in  Holy  Week.  But  it  did 
not  recall  the  'splendid  ceremonies  and  parades  of  the 
Knights  of  Malta.  Indeed  a  more  discouraged  pro- 
cession I  have  never  seen.  You  may  see  its  like  in 
Holy  Week  anywhere  in  Southern  Italy,  Sicily,  and 
Spain,  and  it  would  not  be  worth  a  paragraph  but  for 
the  orientalism  that  pervaded  it.  The  narrow  and 
steep  streets  through  which  it  made  its  way  about  sun- 
down were  crowded,  and  little  effort  was  made  to  clear 
a  way  for  it.  One  thinks  of  a  procession  as  an  or- 
ganized, progressive  movement.  With  the  idea  of  a 
procession  in  mind  it  is  difficult  to  give  the  reader  a 
notion  of  this  proceeding. 


142      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

First  appeared  two  nonclialant  vagabonds,  one  with 
a  fife,  the  other  with  a  drum.  They  sauntered  along, 
the  fifer  flourishing  now  and  then  a  few  vagrant  minor 
notes,  with  no  attempt  at  a  tune,  and  the  drummer 
now  and  then  striking  his  skin  in  a  desultory  manner. 
The  piping  was  exactly  the  lazy,  oriental  flourish,  in 
mournful  minor,  one  hears  at  the  head  of  a  wedding 
procession  in  Cairo,  and  the  two  players  strolled  on 
and  stopped  now  and  then  to  look  behind  them  as  mu- 
sicians do  in  Egypt.  If  any  procession  existed,  it  was 
lost  in  the  rear.  At  length  appeared  men  in  brown 
linen  robes  with  hoods,  the  hoods  drawn  over  the  heads, 
having  peep-holes  for  the  eyes,  carrying  dirty  lanterns, 
walking  wide  apart  on  each  side  of  the  street,  and  each 
man  at  the  distance  of  a  rod  from  the  one  behind 
him.  The  crowd  filled  up  the  intervening  spaces,  and 
it  was  very  difficult  to  pick  out  the  procession.  Then 
came  small  boys,  handsome  fellows,  prettily  dressed, 
also  at  distances  of  a  rod  apart,  carrying  the  nails,  the 
dice,  the  crown  of  thorns,  and  the  other  emblems  of 
the  crucifixion.  Soon  appeared  in  \aew  a  platform 
borne  on  the  shoulders  of  slow-moving  men.  On  the 
platform  v/as  a  life-size  figure  of  Christ  in  the  agony  of 
the  garden.  Other  men  in  masks  and  now  and  then  a 
priest  straggled  on.  The  procession  often  stood  dead 
still ;  when  it  moved  it  was  at  a  snail's  pace,  and  even 
when  it  did  move  little  was  to  be  seen  of  it  except 
when  a  platform  came  in  sight.  There  were  eight  of 
these  platforms  with  figures  —  Christ  scourged,  Christ 
crowned  with  thorns,  Christ  falling  under  the  weight 


MALTA.  143 

of  the  cross,  St.  Veronica  with  the  handkerchief,  etc. 
All  the  figures  were  painfully  hideous.    The  only  time 
when  the  procession  was  compacted  and  recognizable 
as  a  procession  was  at  the  passing  of  the  crucifixion. 
This  was  a  large  platform  with  Christ  on  the  cross, 
the  three  women  standing  by  the  cross  and  the  figures 
looming  up  in  a  wild  manner  in  the  deepening  twi- 
light.    Before   it  walked  one   of  the  fine  regimental 
bands  of  the  island,  playing  a  mournful  march,  and  it 
was  followed  by  chanting  priests.    The  body  of  Christ 
lying  under  a  canopy  was  followed  by  chanting  boys. 
As  the  chief  piece,  the  crucifixion,  came  into  the  main 
street,  trumpets  were  blown,  supposed  to  be  the  trum- 
pets of  the  Roman  soldiery.     The  last  scene  was  a 
gigantic   empt}'  cross,  and   Mary  seated  disconsolate 
at  its  foot.     Once  again,  as  this  distracted  procession 
groped  its  way  through  the  crowd,  I  heard  the  discour- 
aged notes  of  the  fife,  and  it  did  not  need  the  pictur- 
esque faldettas  of  the   Sarcenic-looking  women  who 
thronged  the  sidewalk,  and  cast  up  their  soft  eyes  to 
the  sad  images,  to  impress  me  with  the  Moorish  tone 
given  to  this  Christian  ceremony. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

GIBEALTAR  AND   T^USTGIER. 

On  the  14th  of  April,  four  days'  sail  from  JNIalta 
on  the  steamer  Mizapore,  we  sighted  the  Pillars  of 
Hercules,  two  lofty  rocks,  apparently  some  ten  miles 
apart,  —  the  gateway  to  a  new  world.  The  wind  was 
west  and  the  day  showery.  These  historic  monuments 
gained  imperiousness  from  the  thunderous  clouds  that 
concealed  their  summits,  and  left  something  of  their 
majesty  to  the  imagination.  They  frown  at  each  other 
across  the  highway  of  commerce  and  discovery,  a  s}Tn- 
bol  of  Spanish  and  English  distrust.  In  order  to  com- 
mand the  strait  one  power  should  hold  both  headlands. 
But  since  the  English  cannot  he  dislodged  from  Gi- 
braltar, the  Spaniards  have  seized  the  opposite  rock, 
the  high  headland  of  Ceuta,  the  Punta  de  Africa,  for- 
tified it  and  garrisoned  it,  and  converted  it  into  an  im- 
portant military  prison.  Ceuta  was  the  point  from 
which  the  Moors  embarked  for  the  conquest  of  Spain, 
and  the  Spaniards  now  hold  it  in  terrorem  over  Mo- 
rocco. But  the  Moors,  who  have  little  desire  to  recon- 
struct the  world,  do  not  fret  over  its  occupation,  as  the 
Spaniards  do  over  the  sight  of  the  English  flag  on 
Gibraltar. 


GIBRALTAR  AND   TANGIER.  1'4.5 

The  Mizapore  had  come  from  Sydney,  and  her  pas- 
sengers, with  a  sprinkling  of  travelers  picked  up  at 
Bombay,  returning  East  Indians,  olive-skinned  nurses 
with  heavy  silver  anklets,  and  lithe  Lascars,  —  just 
enough  to  add  picturesqueness  to  the  ship,  —  were 
mostly  Australians,  going  "  home  "  for  the  first  time 
in  their  lives ;  loyally  English,  exeeedingl}'-  curious  to 
see  the  old  country,  but  entirely  un-English  in  manner 
and  speech,  ha\dng  a  pro^^ncial  (or  was  it  demo- 
cratic ?)  manner,  not  agreeable,  I  noticed,  to  the  real 
English  on  board,  and  wanting  both  the  polish  and  the 
individual  assertion,  amounting  almost  to  indifference 
to  people  not  born  on  the  great  island,  —  the  sort  of 
bitter-sweet  which  makes  the  English  traveler  usually 
the  most  interesting  of  companions. 

Statisticians  coidd  have  proved  that  the  death-rate 
was  high  on  the  Mizapore,  for  we  had  two  fmierals  in 
our  short  passage.  One  was  that  of  a  returning  In- 
dian officer,  who  succumbed  to  consmnption  the  night 
we  left  Malta,  and  the  other  that  of  a  baby.  Among 
the  passengers  was  another  Indian  officer,  who  had 
been  eager  to  join  his  wife  and  child  at  Malta  and 
take  them  home.  Mother  and  child  were  at  the  dock, 
but  the  child  was  ill,  and  the  happy  reunion  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  day  of  anxiety.  On  the  second  day,  the 
body  of  the  child,  after  a  brief  prayer,  was  pushed  out 
of  the  same  funeral  opening,  on  the  middle  deck, 
where  the  dead  officer  had  been  launched,  and  two 
more  were  contributed  to  the  myriads  who  make  the 

10 


146     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

smiling  Mediterranean   one  of   the  most  populous  of 
graveyards. 

The  isolated  rock  of  Gibraltar,  presenting  perpen- 
dicular points  to  the  east  and  north  about  fourteen 
hundred  feet  sheer  above  the  sea,  slopes  away  in  a 
series  of  terraces  to  the  west,  where  the  straggling- 
town  lies,  and  helps,  with  the  opposite  coast  of  Algesi- 
ras,  to  form  a  small  harbor,  little  protected  by  the  low 
hills  on  the  west  of  it,  open  to  the  southwest  and  the 
southeast,  and  swept  by  the  current  of  air  which  draws 
over  the  flat  land  north  of  the  rock,  —  the  neutral 
ground  between  the  rock  and  Spanish  territory.  The 
west  wind  was  blowing  freshly  as  we  rounded  into  the 
bay,  and  the  hundreds  of  vessels  in  the  harbor  were 
bobbing  about  like  corks.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to 
get  into  one  of  the  little  boats  that  came  off  to  take  us 
to  the  landing,  and  we  formed  a  very  poor  opinion  of 
the  harbor  of  Gibraltar  as  a  place  of  shelter.  Nor,  al- 
though we  were  hosj)itably  received,  and  given  a  ticket 
that  permitted  us  to  land  and  remain  five  days  on  the 
rock,  with  a  warning  not  to  be  caught  outside  the  gates 
at  the  simdown  gun,  could  we  get  up  much  enthusiasm 
for  the  commonplace  town.  We  endeavored  to  ap- 
preciate its  military  position  and  the  labor  that  has 
been  expended  in  cutting  galleries  and  tunnels  in  the 
rock,  and  mounting  big  guns  which  peep  out  of  em- 
brasures and  threaten  Spain.  I  could  not  see  that  the 
strait  was  commanded  against  the  passage  of  vessels ; 
most  of  the  armament  is  on  the  land  side,  and  the  rock 
is  no  doubt  impregnable  to  any  Spanish  attempt,  and 


GIBRALTAR  AND   TANGIER.  147 

a  perpetual  offense  to  Spanish  pride.  It  looks  insolent 
and  dominating,  both  from  land  and  sea.  From  a 
spacious  chamber  hewn  out  of  the  rock  hundreds  of 
feet  above  the  water,  on  the  north  side  ;  a  chamber  fur- 
nished with  long,  down-slanting,  wicked-looking  guns, 
ready  with  a  turn  of  their  carriage  wheels  to  poke 
their  cold  noses  out  of  the  embrasures  ;  a  chamber  in 
which  the  officers  of  the  establishment  give  lunches  to 
their  lady  friends  ;  a  cool  retreat,  where  the  artillery 
of  love  is  just  now  more  dangerous  than  that  of  war, 
because  love  is  a  repeating  and  revolving  arm,  that 
never  needs  to  be  reloaded,  and  is  often  deadly  when 
it  is  empty, — from  this  banqueting  hall,  that  might 
become  lurid  with  smoke  and  saltpetre,  we  looked 
down  upon  the  narrow  neck  of  sandy  flat  that  sepa- 
rates England  from  Spain.  Immediately  at  the  foot 
of  the  rock  is  the  burial-ground  of  the  English  troops ; 
beyond  that,  barracks,  and  then  a  line  of  British  sol- 
diers, slowly  pacing  forward  and  backward;  beyond 
the  soldiers,  a  strip  of  neutral  sand,  perhaps  three 
hundred  yards  in  width ;  and  beyond  that,  a  line  of 
Spanish  sentinels,  also  pacing  forward  and  backward 
in  hostile  show,  and  behind  them  barracks  again,  and 
the  town  of  San  Roque  on  rising  ground.  And  thus 
stand  Spain  and  England,  in  this  day  of  grace  and- 
Christianity,  watching  each  other  in  mutual  distrust, 
while  their  peoples  meet  in  the  friendship  of  trade 
and  social  intercourse. 

The  most  prominent  object  in  San  Eoque  is  the  new 
Bull  Ring,  a  vast  stone  structure  like  the  Coliseum,  — 


148     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

a  sign  of  the  progress  in  civilization  of  the  people  of 
the  Peninsula. 

There  are  several  pleasant  villas  nestled  among  the 
rocks  on  the  southeast  exposure,  and  the  Alameda 
runs  along  to  the  southeast  from  the  main  town  through 
flowering  gardens  and  sweet-scented  trees,  —  a  cheer- 
ful promenade  and  drive  when  wind  and  dust  are  laid. 
Beyond,  dwelling  in  caves  in  the  east  end  of  the  rock, 
is  said  to  be  a  remnant  of  the  old  and  very  respect- 
able colony  of  tailless  and  harmless  apes,  who  obey  a 
leader,  and  seem,  having  discarded  the  tail  a,s  vulgar, 
to  be  trying  to  develop  into  citizens  and  voters.  They 
have  only  reached  the  bandit  stage  of  civilization  of 
the  region,  and  rob  the  gardens  by  way  of  varying 
their  diet  of  sweet  roots  and  the  fruit  of  the  cactus. 
There  saems  to  be  here  an  opportunity  of  encouraging 
the  development  theory,  and  a  tempting  field  for  Posi- 
tivist  missionaries.  Our  scientific  age  is  not  living  up 
to  its  opportunities.  Why  should  we  grope  about  in 
the  past  to  prove  that  men  once  had  tails,  when  we 
have  here  an  almost  brother,  who  shows  by  coming 
out  of  the  tail  period  that  he  is  waiting  for  the  higher 
education  ?  Why  should  we  not  take  hold  of  him,  — 
not  by  the  organ  we  would  once  have  taken  hold  of 
him,  —  and  lift  him  up  ? 

Such  thoughts  come  to  the  perplexed  traveler,  as 
he  sees  and  hears,  in  the  narrow  street  by  the  hotel, 
another  rudimentary  institution,  —  the  drum  and  fife 
corps  of  Old  England,  piping  and  pounding  out  that 
barbarous  and  soul-stirring  music  which  inspires  the 


GIBRALTAR  AND  TANGIER.  149 

courage  of  the  living,  drowns  the  cries  of  the  wounded, 
and  is  a  requiem  for  the  dead.  I  have  never  heard 
the  drum  and  fife  played  with  such  vigor,  vim,  exact- 
ness of  time,  and  faith,  and,  let  me  add,  \Ai\\  such 
pride.  These  stalwart  miisicians  gloried  in  their  pro- 
fession, and  their  magnificent  vaunting  of  the  power 
of  England  and  the  advantage  of  the  trade  of  war 
seemed  to  me  irresistible,  as  a  recruiting  argument. 
Certainly,  I  foUowed  them  about  as  long  as  I  could, 
without  enlisting,  and  was  never  tired  of  watcliing  the 
drummers  toss  their  sticks  in  air  and  catch  them  with- 
out missing  a  note,  nor  of  feeling  the  thrill  imparted 
by  their  vigor,  nor  of  sympathizing  with  the  swelling 
efforts  of  the  fif ers  to  split  the  ears  of  the  town,  nor 
of  studying,  as  a  scientific  problem,  the  elevating  ef- 
fect upon  the  mind  of  well-regulated  noise.  This  is, 
surely,  the  perfection  of  martial  obstreperousness ; 
and  I  scarcely  wonder  that  soldiers,  for  a  shilling  a 
day  and  pretty  girls  for  nothing,  are  willing  to  follow 
the  English  drum-beat  round  the  world  ;  and  I  do  not 
wonder  at  all  at  the  military  prowess  of  the  Briton. 
With  such  incentives,  it  would  seem  to  be  easy  to  kill 
a  Frenchman,  or  an  Egj^ptian,  or  a  Chinaman,  or  to 
do  an}i;liiug  except  to  sit  on  this  sun-and-wind-beaten 
rock,  and  v/ait  for  the  hidalgos  to  come  and  take  it. 

It  seems,  on  the  map,  an  easy  voyage  across  the 
sunny  strait  to  Tangier.  The  high  coast  of  old  Africa 
looks  inviting,  and  the  distance  is  not  more  than  thirty 
miles.  We  went  on  board  the  steam-tug  Hercules  at 
noon.     Getting  on  board  was  not  agreeable,  for  the 


150     NOTES  OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

exposed  harbor  was  exceedingly  rough  ;  all  the  vessels 
at  anchor  were  as  active  as  dancers  in  a  jig,  and  the 
small  boats  bobbed  about  like  chips  on  the  heaving, 
chopping  waves.  The  steam-tug,  neither  clean  nor 
commodious,  is  a  cattle  and  passenger  boat.  A  deck 
passage  for  both  is  imperative,  because  the  small  cabin 
in  the  stern  is  a  loathsome  hole,  in  which  the  motion 
and  smells  forbid  any  human  being  to  abide.  The 
passengers  stowed  themselves  about  the  deck  seats 
under  the  bulwarks  and  on  the  hatchway,  and  a  few 
of  the  first  class  on  a  platform  raised  above  the  engine. 
It  was  a  choice  assortment  of  traders  and  vagabonds, 
Moors,  Jews,  disconsolate  women  and  children,  and 
half  a  dozen  English  and  Americans.  In  the  teeth  of 
a  head  wind  we  bore  away  for  Point  Tarif a,  —  a 
frontier  fortress,  which  I  suppose  gave  us  the  blessed 
word  "tariff," — now  a  city  of  crumbling  walls,  and 
the  sweetest  oranges  and  most  gracious  and  complai- 
sant women  in  Spain,  —  according  to  the  guide-book. 
The  women  wear  the  mantilla  drawn  over  the  head, 
so  as  to  conceal  all  the  face  except  one  destructive  eye, 
and  the  place  is  said  to  retain  more  Moorish  charac- 
teristics than  any  other  in  Andalusia.  In  front  of  it 
is  a  fortified  rocky  island  with  a  lighthouse.  AVhen 
we  ran  past  this  we  were  in  the  open  strait,  and  no- 
body paid  much  attention  to  the  scenery.  The  wind 
seemed  to  freshen,  and  when  the  boat  struck  the  in- 
ward flowing  current,  which  the  captain  said  was  seven 
knots  an  hour,  she  began  to  climb  over  the  waves  and 
sink  between  them,  and  bob  about  in  a  most  confusing 


GIBRALTAR   AND   TANGIER.  151 

manner.  To  meet  the  wind  and  tlie  current,  her  nose 
was  pointed  straight  out  to  the  Atlantic,  and  for  weary- 
hours  we  appeared  to  be  going  to  America,  while  we 
were  actually  drifting  nearer  the  African  coast.  In 
this  battle  with  waves  and  wind,  the  waves  had  the 
best  of  it,  and  every  few  moments  spray  and  volumes 
of  water  dashed  aboard,  drenching  us  all,  even  the 
occu23ants  of  the  upper  platform.  It  was  almost  im- 
possible to  keep  a  seat,  or  even  to  hang  on  to  the 
hatchway.  Most  of  the  passengers  gave  up  all  effort, 
and  sprawled  about  on  the  deck  in  any  position  chance 
gave  them.  I  was  particularly  interested  in  a  Jewish 
family,  a  man  and  his  wife  and  a  boy  and  girl  of 
twelve  and  foiu'teen,  who  had  established  themselves 
on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  cabin  hatchway.  The  chil- 
dren, rolled  up  in  blankets  and  locked  in  each  other's 
arms,  seemed  to  be  sleeping,  regardless  of  the  tumult. 
But  the  quiet  did  not  long  continue.  Father  and 
mother  soon  ceased  to  take  the  least  interest  in  their 
offspring,  and  rocked  about  the  deck  in  utter  misery. 
The  children  began  to  moan  and  writhe  and  twist 
under  their  blankets,  and  then  to  howl  and  kick,  imtil 
they  had  rid  themselves  of  half  their  clothing.  Deathly 
sick,  and  apparently  enraged  at  such  treatment,  they 
kicked  and  screamed,  but  never  unclasped  themselves 
from  each  other's  arms.  It  would  have  been  pitiful, 
if  the  misery  had  not  been  so  nearly  universal.  The 
sun  shone  in  bright  mockery  of  our  calamity,  the  west 
wdnd  blew  with  fresh  inspiration,  the  salt  water  soaked 
and  blinded  us,  and  the  nasty  little  tug  plimged  about 


152     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

like  an  unbroken  colt.  We  were  five  hours  on  this 
voyage  of  thirty  miles  ;  and  when  the  vessel  at  last 
floated  in  calm  water,  behind  the  breakwater  in  the 
harbor  of  Tangier,  it  seemed  as  if  an  age  separated  us 
from  Europe. 

The  harbor  is  shallow,  and  is  open  to  the  northeast. 
We  anchored  some  distance  from  the  shore,  and  were 
at  once  surrounded  (who  does  not  recall  the  familiar 
Oriental  scene  ?)  by  a  fleet  of  clumsy  boats,  and  the 
usual  hordes  of  eager,  excited  boatmen  swarmed  on 
board,  —  Moors  in  gowns  and  turbans,  —  who  seized 
upon  our  baggage  as  if  we  had  been  captives,  and 
fought  for  the  possession  of  our  persons.  Amid  pidl- 
ing,  hauling,  shouting,  screaming,  swearing,  and  wild 
gesticidation,  we  found  ourselves  transferred  to  a  small 
boat,  and  on  the  way  to  the  landing.  Boats  were  dash- 
ing about  in  all  directions,  with  frantic  splashing  of 
oars  and  reckless  steering  ;  collisions  were  imminent ; 
everybody  was  shouting  as  if  crazy ;  and  in  all  the 
tumult  there  was  laughing,  chaffing,  and  abundant 
good-humor.  Half-way  to  shore  our  boat  stuck  in  the 
sand,  and  overboard  went  the  chattering  crew,  push- 
ing, pulling,  and  howling,  till  we  reached  the  landing- 
pier,  when  there  was  another  scramble  out  of  the  boat 
and  a  rush  along  the  shaky  scaffolding.  The  most 
helpful  people  these,  —  the  whole  population  is  eager 
to  take  a  hand  in  disposing  of  us ;  and  the  moment  we 
touch  Africa  a  couple  of  dozen  of  men  and  boys  have 
seized  upon  our  trunks,  bags,  and  bundles,  and  have 
rushed  away  with  them  through  the  gate  and  into  the 


GIBRALTAR  AND   TANGIER.  153 

city.  It  looks  like  a  robbery  ;  in  New  York  it  would 
be  ;  but  this  is  not  a  civilized  land,  and  we  shall  find 
every  piece  of  baggage  at  our  hotel,  with  a  man  guard- 
ing it,  recounting  the  exhausting  labor  of  carrjang  it, 
and  demanding  four  times  the  pay  he  expects  to  get. 

The  hurry  is  over,  the  tumult  subsides,  and  as  we 
walk  leisurely  on  there  begins  to  fall  upon  us  the 
peace  of  the  Orient.  At  the  gate  sit,  in  monumental 
calm,  four  officers  of  the  customs,  in  spotless  white 
raiment  of  silli  and  linen,  who  gravely  return  our 
salvite.  We  ascend  through  a  straight  street,  roughly 
paved  and  not  too  clean,  lined  with  shops  displaying 
the  tempting  stuffs  of  Eastern  ingenuity,  —  the  shops 
of  workers  in  metal,  leather,  slij)pers,  horse  furniture, 
and  bricabrac,  —  and  emerge,  by  the  gate  into  the 
market-place  under  the  wall,  into  a  scene  wholly  ori- 
ental :  groups  of  camels  squatting  in  the  dust,  moving 
their  ungainly  necks  in  a  serpent-like  undulation,  or 
standing,  weary,  in  their  patient  ugliness ;  donkeys 
loaded  with  sticks,  grass,  and  vegetables ;  on  mats 
spread  on  the  ground  heaps  of  wheat,  beans,  salads, 
oranges,  and  all  sorts  of  grimy  provisions ;  water- 
sellers  ;  money-changers,  with  piles  of  debased  copper, 
and  scales  to  weigh  it ;  half-naked  children  tumbling 
about  in  the  dirt,  negroes,  stately  Moors  in  tattered 
gowns,  wild-looking  camel  drivers,  women  enveloped 
in  single  pieces  of  white  cloth,  draped  about  the  body 
and  drawn  over  the  head.  We  make  our  way,  amid 
this  swarm,  up  a  hill  gullied  by  the  water,  through  a 
narrow  lane  thick-set  with  gigantic  aloes  and  cacti, 


154     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

to  the  hotel  Ville  cle  France,  —  a  spacious  and  very 
comfortable  French  house,  backed  and  flanked  by 
splendid  gardens  of  flowers  and  fruit. 

Outside  and  above  the  town,  higher  than  any  part 
of  it  except  the  castle  hill,  which  is  on  the  sea-bluff 
on  the  right  entrance  of  the  harbor,  the  hotel  occupies  a 
commanding  position,  and  offers  a  lovely  prospect.  On 
its  left,  toward  the  north,  the  ground  slopes  gently  up 
to  a  wide  gTassy  plain,  the  level  of  the  sea-bluff,  along 
which  are  the  picturesque  cottages  and  plantations  of 
the  foreign  embassies,  lying  amid  gardens  in  the  full 
sun,  but  fanned  by  the  ocean  breeze.  From  a  window 
in  one  side  of  the  room  I  occupied,  I  looked  over  the 
garden,  blooming  with  roses,  gerauimns,  acacias,  or- 
anges, to  the  sandy  curve  of  the  harbor  and  the  blue- 
green  of  its  shallow  water,  and  the  opening  into  a 
plain  in  the  direction  of  Tetuan  ;  and  from  a  window 
on  the  other  side,  over  the  white  town  to  the  blue  sea 
and  the  dim  mountain  coast  of  Spain.  No  lovelier 
and  more  restful  prospect  exists.  When  the  traveler 
reaches  the  hotel  of  M.  Brugeaud,  opens  the  windows 
to  let  in  the  odors  of  the  garden,  and  gazes  out  on  the 
smiling  prospect  of  land  and  sea,  he  feels  that  he  has 
come  to  a  place  of  rest.  It  is  one  of  the  few  spots  in 
the  world  where  the  wanderer  loses  his  unrest  and  all 
desire  to  go  farther.  The  town,  which  is  shabby 
enough  as  we  walk  through  it,  is  picturesque  from 
this  point.  It  shines  like  silver,  under  the  sun  ;  all 
the  whitewashed,  flat-roofed  houses  contrasting  with 
the  blue  water  beyond ;  a  couple  of  mosque  towers, 


GIBRALTAR  AND   TANGIER.  155 

green,  looking  as  I£  tiled,  but  probably  painted ;  and 
flags  o£  all  nations  flying  here  and  there  on  roofs  that 
climb  above  their  humbler  neighbors. 

Smiday  is  the  best  market-day.     When  I  awoke  at 
dawn  I  heard  the  throb  of  the  darabuka  drum  in  the 
place  below,  and  the  innumerable  hum  of  traffic  ;  and 
looking  out  I  saw  that  the  Soko  was  swarming  like  an 
ant-hill.     When  we  descended  into  the  motley  throng, 
the  business  of  the  day  was  in  full  blast.     The  scene 
is  familiar  to  every  Eastern  -traveler,  but  it  has   an 
imtiring  fascination.     The  beggars  followed  us  about ; 
the    snake-charmers    and    story-tellers    had   already 
formed  rings  of  delighted  spectators  :  women  clad  in 
coarse  white  stuff,  with  children  slung  on  their  backs  ; 
stately,  handsome  Moorish  merchants  in  cool,  gauzy 
robes ;  comely  urchins  in  rags  begging  and  offering 
to  act  as  guides ;  sellers  of  imattractive  goods  crying 
their  merchandise ;  camels  roaring,  and  donkeys  bray- 
ing,   and  dervishes    posturing,  —  the  picture   shifted 
like  the  bits  in  a  kaleidoscope.     Here  was  a  fantastic 
der-vdsh  arrosfating:  to  himself  the  title  of  Shereef  of 
Beggars,  with  a  variegated  turban,  his  dress  thickly 
hung  with  ornaments,  and  four  rings  on  each  finger. 
Here  were  the  unpleasant  Eiffs  from  the  country,  men 
in  dirty  embroidered  robes,  with  the  heads  aU  shaved 
except  one  long  curl  on  one  side,  —  a  lock  left  for 
Lord  Mahomet  to  pull  the  wearer  up  to  heaven.     The 
hio-h  civilization  and  lack  of  self -consciousness  of  these 
people  are  shown  by  the  fact  that  everybody  may 
wear  any  dress  he  chooses,  or  none,  and  attract  no  at- 
tention. 


156     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY 

In  the  town  it  was  Svuiday,  also,  and  just  as  lively. 
The  Jews  form  a  considerable  portion  of  the  popula- 
tion, and  are  in  appearance  the  most  decent  and 
tlu'iftj.  We  were  admitted  to  several  Jewish  houses, 
built  with  open  courts,  in  the  Moorish  style,  which 
were  exceedingly  neat  and  comfortable.  The  women, 
who  have  a  reputation  for  beauty,  are  of  light  com- 
plexion, —  much  lighter  than  the  men,  —  and  many 
of  them  have  fine  eyes,  and  all  the  national  fondness 
for  jewelry.  Notwithstanding  their  w^ealth  and  or- 
derly behavior,  the  Jews  are  liked  by  nobody,  and  the 
INIoorish  merchants,  who  are  no  more  scrupulous  than 
other  traders,  always  regard  the  Jew  as  dishonest. 
In  no  Oriental  commimity  does  the  Jew  rise  above 
this  prejudice. 

On  a  street  corner  was  a  roulette  table  in  full  oper- 
ation, w^hirled  by  an  honest  man  from  Malaga,  who 
coveted  our  good  opinion,  without  expecting  us  to  join 
his  game ;  supposing  that,  as  foreigners,  we  looked 
down,  as  he  did,  upon  these  ignoble  surroundings. 

"  You  ought  to  be  very  good  here,"  I  said,  "  with 
three  Sabbaths,  —  the  Moslem  Friday,  the  Jewish 
Saturday,  and  the  Christian  Sunday." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  the  devout  Spaniard,  giving  the 
wdieel  a  whirl ;  "  but  Moors  no  keep  Sunday.  And  " 
(said  suddenly,  as  if  it  were  a  new  thought)  "  Chris- 
tians no  keep  it,  neither  !  Jews  must  keep  it ;  'bilged 
by  their  law." 

We  left  this  introducer  of  Christian  ways  whirling 
his  wheel  and  gathering  in  the  stray  coppers.     How 


GIBRALTAR   AND   TANGIER.  157 

much  sin  it  is  to  gamble  with  the  Moorish  copper  is  a 
question.  Having  need  to  fill  my  pocket  with  it  to 
satisfy  the  beggars,  I  received  from  a  money-changer 
a  large  bowlful  of  it  in  exchange  for  2i  peseta.,  a  silver 
piece  worth  twenty  cents. 

Tangier,  for  climate,  scenery,  novel  entertainment, 
is  a  delightful  winter  residence.  In  two  weeks,  at  any 
rate,  we  did  not  tire  of  it,  and  every  day  became  more 
in  love  with  the  easy  terms  of  existence  there.  The 
broken  country  in  the  direction  of  Cape  Spartel  is  in- 
viting both  to  the  foot-pad  and  the  horseman,  and  the 
embassies,  when  they  are  not  paying  their  annual  visit 
to  Morocco,  the  capital,  must  offer  some  good  society. 
We  went  one  day  to  the  plantation  of  the  American 
consul,  some  tv/o  miles  out  on  the  road  to  Cape 
Spartel,  which  is  laid  out  on  one  side  of  a  glen  ;  shel- 
tered from  the  prevailing  wind,  but  open  to  the  ocean 
breezes.  Here  in  a  pretty  Oriental  cottage,  with  an 
extensive  garden,  blooming  the  Nvinter  through  with 
flowers  of  every  sort,  fragTant  with  the  orange,  the 
banana,  the  pepper,  and  the  acacia  trees,  one  might 
forget  that  snow  and  ice  and  "  blizzards  "  and  politics 
and  all  the  discomforts  of  civilization  in  the  temperate 
zone  exist. 

Tangier,  notwithstanding  its  openness  to  the  world, 
is  still  a  place  of  civility  and  repose.  Oriental  cos- 
tume is  the  rule  ;  the  streets  are  dirty,  the  people  are 
amiable,  the  oranges  are  sweet,  the  climate  is  lovely. 
The  laissez-aUer  of  the  town  is  attractive,  and  the 
shopmen  and  beggars  have  something  of  the  polite- 


158     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

ness  of  the  grave  Moors.  1  used  to  be  attended  often 
in  my  strolls  by  a  cliarming  boy,  in  a  ragged  gown, 
handsome,  and  with  the  breeding  of  a  prince.  He 
had  picked  up  a  little  French  and  a  little  English, 
broken  fragments,  which  were  melodious  in  his  mouth, 
and  he  aspired  to  be  a  guide  and  earn  a  few  daily 
coppers.  He  assumed  an  air  of  protection,  and  kept 
off  the  more  clamorous  beggars  and  the  rabble  of 
urchins  that  are  willing  to  accompany  the  stranger  all 
day  in  his  v/alks.  His  gracious,  deferential,  and  su- 
perior manner  was  guided  by  a  sure  instinct,  which 
enabled  him  to  keep  the  narrow  line  between  haughti- 
ness and  servility,  and  to  remain  near  me  without 
compromising  his  dignity,  when  he  was  bluntly  told 
that  his  company  was  no  longer  wanted. 

"  You  know  Mark  Twal  ?  "  he  asked,  by  way  of 
scraping  acquaintance,  on  his  first  appearance. 

"  Yes,  I  know  Mark  Twain  very  well.     Do  you  ?  " 

"Yaas;  he  friend  to  me.  I  guide  to  him.  He 
vely  good  man,  Mark  Twal." 

"  Why,  you  young  rascal,  you  were  n't  born  when 
he  was  in  Tangier,  sixteen  years  ago." 

"  Oh,  yaas,  born  enough.  Me  know  him.  He  vely 
good  man." 

"  What  makes  you  think  him  a  good  man  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  vely  good  man  ;  plenty  backsheesh.  You 
go  castle  ?  "  And  the  handsome  boy  made  a  dive, 
and  routed  the  increasing  throng  of  beggars  ;  and  then 
returned  to  my  side,  with  tlic  easy  but  high-bred  man- 
ner of  an  established  friendship,  and  strolled  along 


GIBRALTAR   AND   TANGIER.  159 

with  the  air  of  a  citizen  of  the  place  pointing  out  the 
objects  of  interest  to  a  stranger. 

We  climbed  up  to  the  castle  —  the  shabby  acropolis 
of  the  city  —  by  a  steep,  cactus-lined  road  along  the 
wall  in  the  rear,  and  entered  by  a  gate  into  the  sprawl- 
ing official  quarter  of  the  town.  This  is  no  doubt  the 
site  of  the  old  city  of  Tandja  —  the  "  city  protected 
by  the  Lord ;  "  and  it  is  apparently  still  left  to  the 
Lord's  jjrotection.  It  has  no  traces  of  the  Portuguese 
or  the  English  occupation,  although  it  was  held  by  the 
Portuguese  from  1485  to  1662,  when  it  fell  to  Charles 
II.  through  his  Portuguese  wife,  and  occasioned  the 
English  no  end  of  trouble  and  expense  for  twenty-two 
years,  as  may  be  read  in  the  diary  of  Samuel  Pepys, 
Esq.,  who  was  one  of  the  commissioners  of  Tangier, 
and  became  its  treasurer,  an  office  which  was  "  a  good 
fortune  beyond  all  imagination,"  and  no  doubt  as- 
sisted that  diligent  naval  administrator  to  set  up  his 
coach.  It  is  a  great  loss  to  us  that  Mr.  Pepys,  who 
went  to  Tangier  in  August,  1683,  with  Lord  Dart- 
mouth, did  not  continue  his  entries  in  his  Diary  during 
his  travels  in  Morocco  and  Spain.  His  open  "  Jour- 
nal," which  may  have  been  of  service  to  his  contempo- 
raries, contains  little  that  is  characteristic  of  the  man 
or  the  city.  Mr.  Evelyn  also  built  hopes  of  service  to 
art  and  archseology  upon  the  expected  visit,  and  wrote 
to  him  reminding  him  to  inquire  about  medals  and 
inscriptions  to  be  fomid  at  Tangier.  He  was  also  to 
inquire  about  the  citrice  or  cedar  trees,  that  of  old 
grew  at  the  foot  of  Mt.  Atlas,  "  and  were  heretofore 


160     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

in  delkijs  for  their  politure  and  natural  maculations, 
to  that  degree,  as  to  be  sold  for  their  weight  in  gold." 
Of  this  wood  Cicero  had  a  table  that  cost  him  ten 
thousand  sesterces,  "  and  one  of  the  Plotemies  had 
yet  another  of  a  far  greater  price,  in  so  much  as  when 
they  used  to  reproach  their  wives  for  their  luxury  and 
excess  in  pearle  and  paint,  they  could  retort,  and  turn 
the  tables  on  their  husbands." 

This  quarter  now,  like  most  oriental  official  resi- 
dences, is  little  but  a  shell  of  shabby  houses  and  dirty 
courts.  Remains  of  better  days  are  visible  in  a  few 
fine  ornamented  Moorish  arches  and  entrances,  and 
in  the  iridescent  tiles  in  the  court  of  the  Governor's 
house.  Adjoining  this  — so  close  is  justice  to  the  royal 
house  in  the  Orient  —  is  the  prison.  It  consists,  so  far 
as  we  could  see,  of  one  large  room,  filthy  enough  to 
please  the  most  conservative  anti-prison  reformer,  and 
crowded  with  an  unambitious  lot  of  criminals,  who 
earn  their  food  by  making  and  selling  baskets.  Viewed 
as  a  place  of  security,  I  should  judge  it  more  easy  to 
get  out  of  it  than  to  get  in.  At  the  castle  gate  over- 
looking the  town,  we  sat  a  long  time  on  the  rocks  with 
the  beggars  and  donlcey  boys  and  swarms  of  children, 
and  other  idlers,  who  always  have  leisure  for  a  sun- 
bath  in  this  land  of  "  to-morrow."  The  idleness  of 
these  people  is  certainly  contagious.  The  most  active 
traveler  soon  regards  the  day  well  spent  if  he  has  suc- 
ceeded in  accomplishing  nothing  in  it  —  nothing  ex- 
cept to  take  impressions  of  repose  and  content.  We 
were  enabled  to  make  the  whole  idle  group  supremely 


GIBRALTAR  AND   TANGIER.  161 

happy  at  the  expense  of  a  lianclM  of  coppers,  whose 

purchasing  power  in  this  case  was  enormous.     They 

were  exchanged  with  sorue  vendors  of  confectionery, 

for  white  candy  which  is  carried  about  on  a  stick,  to 

w^hich  it  is  attached  and  hangs  like  strings  of  macca- 

roni,  and  is  broken  off  in  bits  to  suit  the  smallest 

coin.     These  coins  would  have  no  value  in  our  eyes  if 

they  were  not  stamped  on  one  side  with  the  Seal  of 

Solomon. 

11 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ACROSS    AFRICA. 

"When  we  determined  to  cross  tlie  Dark  Continent, 
we  wisely  chose  one  of  the  narrowest  parts  of  it.  This 
feat  has  become  so  common  in  these  days  that  one 
feels  like  apologizing  for  engaging  in  it,  and  still 
more  for  describing  it.  But  it  may  mitigate  the  of- 
fense by  confessing,  in  advance,  that  our  adventure 
involves  neither  perils  nor  geographical  surprises,  and 
did  not  have  for  its  object  the  opening  of  new  chan- 
nels for  the  cottons  and  Christianity  of  Manchester  or 
Lowell. 

We  selected  for  our  passage  that  portion  of  Mo- 
rocco which  lies  between  Cape  Spartel  and  the  Bay 
of  Tetuan ;  but  as  we  were  already  at  the  city  of  Tan- 
gier, it  would  have  been  mere  bravado  to  begin  our 
journey  at  the  lighthouse  on  the  cape.  We  saved  a 
ride  of  two  hours  by  starting  from  Tangier.  The 
mule  path  from  Tangier  to  Cape  Spartel  ia  over 
breezy  downs,  through  Moslem  cemeteries  and  fields 
of  cactus  and  hedges  of  aloes,  and  winds  along  the 
side  of  Mount  Wasliington,  with  the  broad  expanse  of 
the  Atlantic  always  in  view.  The  accomplished  lin- 
guist who   acted   as  guide  informed  us  that   Mount 


ACROSS  AFRICA.  163 

Wasliington  takes  its  name  from  the  fact  that  the 
women  of  the  vicinity  resort  to  the  streams  that  flow 
from  it  to  do  their  washing.  It  is  certain  that  the 
sj  landscape  owes  much  of  its  picturesqueness  to  the 
women  who  are  pounding  clothes  and  chattering  on 
every  stream,  or  strolling  along  the  white  paths  in 
easy-going  groups.  Draped  in  flowing  white  gar- 
ments, with  shawls  drawn  obliquely  across  the  face, 
these  dark -eyed,  creamy  -  skinned  daughters  of  the 
desert,  loitering  along  the  highway  in  clusters  per- 
petually shifting  as  they  go,  embody  much  of  the 
grace,  the  leisure,  and  the  mystery  of  the  Orient. 

No  sooner  does  one  land  in  Africa  than  he  passes 
into  a  sphere  of  tranquillity,  and  enjoys  a  state  of  rest 
and  calm  to  which  all  parts  of  Europe  are  strangers. 
The  haste  and  flurry  of  life  fall  off,  like  an  irksome 
garment  shed  on  a  hot  day ;  time  is  of  no  more  ac- 
count ;  and  worry  is  impossible  amidst  a  population 
which  moves  with  dignified  slowness,  and  defers  all 
unnecessary  exertion  till  to-morrow.  Whatever  may 
be  the  bustle  of  arrival,  the  clamor  of  boatmen,  the 
indescribable  noise  and  tumidt  and  vociferation  of  the 
swarm  that  assails  the  stranger,  seizes  his  property 
with  a  hundred  hands,  and  threatens  to  scatter  it  all 
over  Morocco;  whatever  may  be  the  tumult  of  the 
market-place,  with  its  camels,  and  donkeys,  and  der- 
vishes, and  conjurers,  and  beggars  m  clouds,  sellers  of 
lentils  and  greens,  and  bundles  of  stick  for  firewood, 
grain,  sugar -candy,  dates,  oranges,  pottery,  and 
"  truck "  of  all  sorts  powdered  with  dust ;  whatever 


164     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

may  be  the  importunity  of  sellers,  and  the  eagerness 
to  act  as  guides  of  bright-eyed  boys,  who  have  a  smat- 
tering of  half  a  dozen  languages,  and  often,  as  I  have 
said,  the  courtly  manner  of  young  princes,  there  is, 
nevertheless,  in  all  this  noise  and  rout  a  sense  of  un- 
derlying  calm,  of  absence  of  hurry,  very  gratefid  to 
Europeans,  whose  nerves,  in  the  development  of  civil- 
Lzutiou,  have  all  worked  out  upon  the  surface.  There 
is  even  something  soothing  in  the  ceaseless  and  mo- 
notonous tom-tom  of  the  drums,  and  the  skirmishing 
and  plaintive  attempts  of  the  flutes  to  suggest  the 
minor  air  they  are  too  lazy  to  play,  and  in  the  spas- 
modic and  die-away  ejaculations  of  the  musicians,  who 
sit  upon  the  ground,  worrying  avv^ay  at  the  tunes  that 
are  a  thousand  years  old,  and  will  be  played  with  the 
same  industrious  idleness  a  thousand  years  hence.  It 
requires  less  energy  for  the  performers  to  go  on  with 
this  sort  of  music  than  to  stop. 

It  was  difficult  to  summon  resolution  enouo-h  to 
break  this  contagious  spell  of  repose,  and  make  the 
journey  to  Tetuan.  For  the  trip  is  not  an  easy  one, 
and  can  always  be  performed  better  to-morrow  than 
to-day.  Tetuan  is  forty-five  English  miles  from  Tan- 
gier. The  road  is  a  model  one  for  Morocco,  and 
there  is  no  decent  halting-place  on  the  way  for  the 
night.  It  is  necessary,  therefore,  to  push  through  be- 
tween sunrise  and  sunset.  With  a  good  road  and 
good  horses  this  would  be  no  hardship.  But  the  gov- 
ernment refuses  to  make  the  one,  and  circumstances 
denied  us  the  other. 


ACROSS  AFRICA.  165 

It  was  the  time  of  tlie  year  for  the  annual  pilgrim- 
age of  the  European  legations  to  the  court  of  the  em- 
peror at  Morocco.     Each  legation  travels  across  the 
desert  with  considerable  state  and  pomp,  requiring  for 
its  train  a  large  number  of  riding  animals  and  beasts 
of  burden,  horses,  mules,  and  camels.     These  cara- 
vans move  very  slowly,  and  consume  nearly  a  month 
in  the  journey,  making  usually  not  more  than  fifteen 
miles  a  day  on  the  march.     As  the  legations  remain  at 
the  court  several  weeks,  about  three  months  are  spent 
in  the  trip.     The  caravans  are  fm-nished  with  tents 
and  all  the  luxuries  attainable,  and,  the  march  being 
slow,  the  excursion  is  much  liked  by  the  ladies  of  the 
different  legations.     The  novelty  of  the  desert  jour- 
ney and  the  visit  to  the  thoroughly  Oriental  city  of 
Morocco  are  x^leasing  inducements,  but  not  the  least 
of  the  attractions  are  the  presents  expected  from  the 
Emperor  to  the  individuals  of  the  suites,  in  return  for 
the  costly  gifts  of  arms  and  goods  which  the  European 
governments  send  the  Emperor  by  the  legations.     The 
Emperor's  presents  are  not  always  judiciously  chosen. 
Last  year  one  of  the  attaches  of  the  Spanish  legation 
so  wormed  himself  into  the  favor  of  the  Emperor  that 
he  received  a  couple  of   superb   pearl   necklaces,   of 
great  value.     On  his  return,  the  thrifty  Spaniard,  in- 
stead of  giving  one  or  both  to  his  wife,  turned  them 
both  into  hard  cash  in  the  market.     My  informant,  a 
Portuguese  lady,  who  made  the  journey,  received  from 
the  Morocco  sidtan  a  mule. 

The  expense  of  these  costly  expeditions,  so  far  as 


166     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY, 

transport  is  concerned,  is  borne,  I  was  told,  by  the 
Morocco  government ;  that  is  to  say,  the  poor  people 
have  to  be  taxed  for  them.  Their  fitting-out  sweeps 
off  from  Tangier  and  the  region  all  the  good  saddle 
horses  and  mules.  The  English  and  some  other  lega- 
tions had  already  gone,  and  the  Italian  was  about  to 
start.  I  saw  at  the  Italian  camp,  outside  the  city, 
many  fine  horses  and  mules ;  the  requisition  for  them 
made  it  imjoossible  for  us  to  procure  decent  riding 
animals  for  Tetuan.  As  we  have  only  a  consul-gen- 
eral in  Morocco,  the  American  government  is  not  rep- 
resented in  these  pilgrimages.  If  our  government  had 
any  care  for  deserving  travelers,  it  would  furnish  us 
the  means  of  visiting  the  interesting  city  of  Morocco 
in  style  bclitting  the  citizens  of  the  republic. 

The  government  undertakes  only  to  secure  the 
safety  of  foreign  travelers  to  Tetuan  who  are  under 
escort  of  a  soldier.  'jL'his  arrangement  gives  the  sol- 
dier a  dollar  a  day,  which  is  paid  by  the  traveler, 
throws  around  the  latter  the  panoply  of  the  law,  and 
adds  a  certain  state  to  his  movements.  The  necessity 
of  putting  ourselves  mider  the  protection  of  the  army 
was  pleasing  to  us,  and  we  commissioned  our  landlord 
to  furnish  us  a  man  of  war  for  our  caravan.  Our  host 
assured  us  that  he  had  procured  the  best  beasts  and 
equipments  for  our  cavalcade,  and  we  awoke  early  on 
the  morning  of  our  start,  with  excited  anticipations  of 
state  and  show. 

When  I  glanced  out  of  my  windows  at  dawn,  the 
view  disclosed  was  exquisitely  lovely.     The  comforta- 


ACROSS  AFRICA.  167 

ble  hotel  of  M.  Brugeaiul,  where  we  stayed,  is  on  a 
hill  outside  the  Bab-el-Sok,  or  gate  of  the  market- 
place, and  above  that  busy  exchange.  One  of  my  win- 
dows looked  out  on  the  garden,  and  the  other  upon 
the  town  and  harbor.  The  garden  is  an  orderly  wil- 
derness, a  series  of  terraces  of  fruit-bearing  trees,  — 
oranges,  lemons,  figs,  and  palms ;  of  flowering  shrubs, 
—  acacias,  geraniums,  carnations,  pepper-trees,  and 
rose-bushes,  heavy  with  the  weight  of  every  form  and 
color  of  this  queen  of  the  flowers.  As  soon  as  I  had 
oj^ened  my  window  there  came  in  a  flood  of  sweet 
odors  and  a  gush  of  bird  notes.  On  the  seats  under 
the  gigantic,  wide-spreading  sycamore  that  shades  the 
front  terrace  were  lounging  three  or  four  turbaned 
idlers,  praising  Allah,  I  hope,  for  the  freshness  of  the 
morning,  while  they  waited  the  advent  of  their  prey, 
the  foreigner. 

From  the  seaward  window  the  prospect  was  wide, 
varied,  and  most  charming.  Indeed,  I  scarcely  know 
anywhere  so  pleasing  a  morning  picture.  The  flat- 
topped  roofs  of  the  white-housed  town,  the  even  lines 
broken  by  a  few  pointed  towers  and  minarets,  and  ris- 
ing on  the  left  to  the  ancient  portions  and  castle,  with 
the  Alcazar;  the  little  harbor,  green  and  blue  in 
patches,  in  the  early  light,  with  half  a  dozen  sailing 
vessels  and  a  steamer  or  two;  to  the  left,  the  open 
Mediterranean  and  the  high  coast  of  Spain,  and  to  the 
right  the  sand-hills  of  Morocco,  rising  by  gradations 
and  lofty  mountains,  over  which  the  dawn  was  redden- 
ing, —  this  picture,  for  outline,  repose,  and  Oriental 


16S    NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

suggestion,  can  hardly  be  equaled  elsewhere.  I  think 
one  might  be  content  to  spend  a  winter  amid  the  color 
and  perfume  of  this  garden,  with  such  a  view  to  rest 
his  tired  senses.  Already,  as  I  looked,  the  life  of  the 
place  was  beginning  to  stir:  trains  of  camels  were 
wending  their  way  up  the  hill  into  the  country  ;  don- 
keys, with  bundles  of  fagots  and  country  produce, 
driven  by  women,  or  lazily  bestrode  by  bare-legged 
men,  were  drifting  into  the  market-place,  where  the 
crowd  began  to  swarm,  and  buzz,  and  shift  about  like 
the  occupants  of  an  ant-hill;  and  I  could  hear  the 
confused  murmur  and  stir  of  beggars,  and  traffick- 
ers, and  sluggards,  unrolling  themselves  from  their 
bimdles  of  rags,  in  which  they  had  slept  beside  their 
patient  beasts.  It  was  a  market-day,  and  before  I 
was  dressed  the  idle  business  of  the  day  had  begun, 
and  a  circle  was  already  formed  about  the  snake- 
charmer,  called  together  by  the  throb  of  the  rude 
drum.  If  the  Orientals  go  to  rest  with  the  sun,  they 
rise  with  it. 

It  was  five  o'clock  when  we  descended  to  the  court- 
yard to  mount.  The  cavalcade  was  ready  :  the  beasts 
nodding  with  their  heads  against  the  w%ill,  —  mules 
and  donkeys  appear  to  be  always  asleep,  —  and  our 
attendants  squatting  about  in  angles  of  the  inclosure, 
not  in  the  least  impatient  to  go,  \\Tapped  in  their 
burnouses  against  the  fresh  morning  air.  Whatever 
notion  I  may  have  formed  of  this  outfit,  I  must  have 
been  disappointed.  There  were  three  mules  for  our 
party  ;  a  horse  to  carry  the  guide  and  the  baggage ;  a 


ACROSS  AFRICA.  169 

footman,  a  tall,  handsome-featured,  bare-legged  Arab, 
to  run  along  and  "  whack  "  the  mules ;  and  the  Mo- 
rocco soldier,  with  his  barbed  steed.  The  mules  were 
small,  ill-conditioned  beasts,  with  rickety  saddles ;  the 
one  I  mounted  was  intended  to  be  of  a  mouse  color, 
but  he  had  not  been  cleaned  since  he  was  a  mule. 

The  soldier,  however,  came  up  to  my  ideas  of  mili- 
tary grandeur  in  Morocco.  Seated  on  the  ground,  he 
was  a  mere  bundle  of  dingy  white  garments,  the  ca- 
pote of  his  burnous  drawn  over  his  turban.  Gun  he 
had  none,  and  we  felt  wronged  by  the  absence  of  this 
long  and  showy  weapon.  The  idea  of  a  soldier  with- 
out arms  seemed  to  us  undignified.  No  doubt  our 
safety  was  increased,  but  our  pride  of  appearance  was 
touched.  His  steed  was  a  piebald  animal  resembling 
those  hairless  purple  horses  that  you  may  see  perform- 
ing at  an  English  country  fair.  When  our  soldier 
rose,  we  perceived  that  he  was  bare-legged,  but  wore 
ruined  slippers ;  and  when  he  climbed  into  his  broad 
saddle,  elevated  on  a  pile  of  rugs,  we  noticed  with  ris- 
ing spirits  that  his  gown  protruded,  and  the  red  end 
of  a  sword  scabbard  showed  out  of  his  garb  of  peace. 
This  bundle  of  soiled  rags  on  horseback,  and  armed 
symbol  of  peace  and  good  will  to  men,  slowly  led  the 
way  out  of  the  court-yard  and  down  the  cactus-cov- 
ered hill,  never  looking  behind  him,  and  we  meekly 
followed  in  his  train.  I  think  it  was  the  sorriest  cav- 
alcade that  ever  crossed  Africa.  The  west  wind  was 
blowing  softly  and  sweet,  the  air  was  full  of  life,  the 
sea  sparkled,  the  white   town   glistened,  as  we  rode 


170     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNET. 

clown  tlu-ougli  the  now  swarming  market-place,  and 
through  the  narrow,  ill-paved  streets  of  the  city,  in 
search  of  adventure.  I  do  not  know  why  it  was  that 
our  man  of  war  reminded  me  of  the  mounted  trooper 
who  sits  immovable  at  the  Life  Guards  gate  in  West- 
minster. Both  figures  are  my  ideal  of  a  soldier.  Nei- 
ther is  of  the  slightest  use,  except  to  assert  the  pres- 
ence of  the  law,  and  both,  I  presume,  are  harmless. 
Our  Life  Guardsman  moved  on  at  a  snail's  pace,  till 
■we  were  free  of  the  town,  over  the  v/ide  sandv  beach 
of  the  harbor,  and  turned  southward  into  a  broad  val- 
ley that  winds  among  the  lovv^  hills. 

There  are  old  Koman  remains  on  the  bay  opposite 
the  city,  and  a  bridge  of  the  solid  architecture  of  the 
Roman  period.  Probably  the  ancient  conquerors  built 
roads  and  kept  open  good  highways  through  this  fer- 
tile country,  but  now  there  is  not  a  road  worthy  of  the 
name  in  all  Morocco.  If  good  roads  are  a  sure  sign 
of  civilization,  then  Morocco  is  no  more  civilized  than 
some  i^arts  of  our  own  country.  Perhaps  the  iNIoorish 
government  is  not  altogether  to  blame  for  this  want, 
though  it  is  certainly  unwilling  to  spend  anything  on 
highways  or  on  the  streets  of  the  cities.  For  there  is 
no  popular  demand  for  roads ;  if  roads  were  made,  it 
would  be  long  before  the  people  procui-ed  vehicles  to 
run  on  them ;  they  prefer  the  ancient  method  of  trans- 
port by  asses  and  camels.  The  way  to  Tetuan  is  ex- 
actly such  a  way  as  used  to  be  made  over  our  Western 
prairies,  when  every  traveler  found  a  path  to  suit  him- 
self, avoiding  the  corn  and  wheat  fields,  and  describ* 


ACROSS  AFRICA.  171 

ing  a  circuit  to  get  over  the  marshy  streams  ;  that  is, 
there  are  lines  of  wandering  foot-paths,  some  of  them 
deeply  worn  by  ages  of  travel.  In  the  rainy  season 
the  donkeys  and  camels  make  new  paths,  diverging 
here  and  there  for  firmer  footing,  so  that  tho  country 
is  gridironed  by  chance  roads. 

The  scene  is  animated  as  we  advance.  TVe  meet 
hundreds  of  country  people,  in  groups  of  twos  and 
threes  and  dozens,  with  laden  donkeys,  on  their  way 
to  town ;  all  the  women,  however  ugly  and  shabby  and 
bare-legged,  making  a  pretense  of  drawing  their  shawls 
over  their  faces  as  we  pass.  There  are  wide  expanses 
of  wheat,  green  and  waving ;  flocks  of  sheep  and  herds 
of  goats  are  grazing  on  the  downs,  and  large  numbers 
of  the  small  cattle  of  the  comitry,  —  the  sort  that  takes 
nineteen  to  make  a  dozen,  —  such  as  are  shipped  to 
Gibraltar  for  beef.  You  may  see  them  transferred 
from  small  boats  to  the  steamers  in  the  shallow  har- 
bor of  Tangier,  swung  on  board  by  a  rope  around  the 
horns. 

The  land  is  vocal  with  the  singing  of  innumerable 
birds ;  a  very  pretty  warbler  is  a  broMTi  bird,  the  size 
of  a  meadow  lark,  with  a  peaked  top-knot ;  flocks  of 
ravens  are  circling  about ;  and  here  and  there  in  the 
fields  stands  a  tall  black  and  white  bird,  with  red  legs, 
a  species  of  stork,  the  sighana  in  Spanish.  These  do- 
mestic birds  have  their  homes  on  the  huts  of  a  strug- 
gling Arab  village,  high  up  on  a  hill,  which  we  pass, — 
thatched  huts  of  brown  earth,  half  hidden  in  the  vast 
fields  of  luxuriant  cactus. 


172     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

After  we  pass  this  town  on  its  high  perch,  the  coun- 
try is  still  largely  cultivated,  animated  with  the  sounds 
of  labor  and  the  presence  of  flocks  and  herds,  but 
there  are  no  signs  of  habitations.  Where  do  the 
people  live  who  own  these  flocks  and  cultivate  the 
ground?  The  absence  of  fences,  or  boundary  hedges, 
and  of  houses,  makes  the  picture  a  strange  one  to 
Western  eyes.  For  hours  we  saw  only  two  or  three 
brown  hovels. 

The  country  is  rolling,  like  a  Western  prairie,  but 
the  soil  is  stony,  and  before  us,  to  the  south,  are  lines 
of  serrated  mountains.  We  pass  over  miles  of  the 
monotonous  route,  where  the  only  verdure  consists  of 
stiff  patches  of  palmetto,  varied  occasionally  by  yellow 
broom  and  gorse  in  bloom,  and  again  interminable 
o]e.inders,  budding,  but  not  yet  in  flower,  which  grow 
as  profusely  as  alders  on  the  banks  of  our  meadow 
broo^cs.  Two  weeks  later  their  crimson  blossoms,  con- 
trasted with  the  vivid  yellow  of  the  gorse,  must  make 
a  brilliant  show. 

Is  that  a  caravan  wandering  over  the  plain  before 
us  ?  As  we  approach,  the  procession  resolves  itself 
into  a  couple  of  dozen  of  camels,  without  loads,  and 
with  only  two  drivers,  leisurely  returning  to  Tetuan. 
The  beasts  are  shambling  along  in  their  ungainly  fash- 
ion ;  craning  their  long  necks,  nipping  bits  of  grass, 
strolling  about  in  a  dozen  patlis,  in  no  order  of  march. 
They  do  not  march,  but  flow  along,  changing  places, 
falling  behind,  and  moving  ahead,  like  figures  in  a 
kaleidoscoj)e.     I  have  noticed  that  a  group  of  Orien- 


ACROSS  AFRICA.  173 

tals  ou  the  road  saunters  along  in  the  same  sliifting 
order.  The  ancients  of  days  lift  up  their  supercilious 
heads,  and  disdainfully  regard  us  as  we  pass  by. 

Notwithstanding  that  large  tracts  of  the  stony  land 
are  neglected,  we  are  never  long  out  of  sight  of  cattle, 
sheep,  and  people,  and  cultivated  fields.  Occasionally 
there  are  olive-trees,  but  for  the  most  part  the  land  is 
treeless.  From  the  slopes,  however,  come  the  cheerful 
notes  of  labor :  workmen  are  calling  to  each  other,  or 
singing  the  plaintive  minor  songs  of  Egypt.  Plowing 
is  going  on.  The  plow  is  the  prunitive  stick  of  wood, 
with  an  iron  point,  that  oi\ly  scratches  up  the  soil  on 
the  siu'face.  The  motive  power  is  a  couple  of  small 
bulls,  yoked  wide  apart,  —  the  yoke  in  front  of  the 
horns,  instead  of  on  the  neck ;  and  progress  is  made 
by  as  much  noise  and  clamor  as  is  needed  to  move  a 
house  by  rollers  and  handspikes  elsewhere. 

The  man  of  war  rides  through  all  this  with  imper- 
turbable gTavity  and  slowness.  Much  of  the  way  has 
been  fair  trottmg-ground ;  it  is  necessary  to  make 
speed  when  we  can,  but  the  soldier  is  moving  imder 
the  accumulated  weight  of  three  thousand  years  of 
leisure.  When  I  urge  him  to  advance,  and  push  my 
mule  upon  him,  —  an  effort  which  causes  me  much 
pounding  and  exhortation,  —  the  Old  Tortoise  will 
raise  his  lumpy  bidk  in  the  saddle,  lean  forward  like 
an  old  woman,  and  lift  himself  in  his  stirrups  so  as 
not  to  feel  the  jar;  whereupon  his  steed  will  swing 
into  a  slow  jog,  which,  slow  as  it  is,  seems  very  dis- 
tastefid  to  our   brave  defender.     At  such  times  the 


174     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

red  point  of  his  scabbard  sticks  up  beliind  in  a  mili- 
tary manner,  lifting  his  burnous,  the  bundle  of  clothes 
is  animated  *by  motion,  and,  as  I  urge  on  my  mule 
with  whacks  and  ejaculations  of  encouragement,  we 
present  for  a  moment  a  martial  appearance.  But  it 
is  only  for  a  moment.  The  seat  of  this  hardy  de- 
fender of  his  country,  protected  as  it  is  by  piles  of 
rugs,  is  not  inured  to  this  sort  of  violent  campaigning, 
and  he  soon  subsides  into  a  walk.  It  is  only  by  tak- 
ing the  lead,  and  forcing  the  train  to  follow  my  forced 
pace,  that  we  get  over  the  ground  at  all. 

We  have  been  several  hours  in  the  saddle,  the  sun 
is  hot,  the  morning  breeze  has  ceased,  the  scenery  has 
become  monotonous,  when  our  spirits  are  raised  by  the 
sight  of  the  Fondak,  where  we  are  to  take  our  luncheon 
and  midday  rest,  —  a  white  building  on  the  side  of 
the  mountain,  in  the  jaws  of  the  pass  we  are  to  scram- 
ble through.  It  seems  very  near,  but  we  ride  an  hour 
and  a  half,  through  hot  gullies  and  stony  ravines  and 
over  steep  paths,  before  we  reach  it.  After  five  hours 
of  this  sort  of  work  we  are  quite  willing  to  throw  our- 
selves on  the  ground  under  the  scant  shade  afforded 
by  a  fine  old  ilex-tree  at  midday. 

Our  halting-place  was  not  the  Fondak,  which  is  half 
a  mile  beyond,  but  the  spring,  which  is  the  resort  of 
all  the  people  and  the  cattle  of  the  region.  The  place 
is  wild  and  rugged,  and  not  picturesque,  but  the  view 
from  it  over  the  rolling  country  we  had  traversed,  and 
the  mountains  beyond,  was  Pne.  This  miglit  be  made, 
with  a  little  trouble,  a  pleasant  resting-place,  and  one 


ACROSS  AFRICA.  175 

would  tliink  that  on  a  liigliway  so  frequented  as  this 
some  pains  would  be  taken  to  make  it  comfortable. 
It  is,  however,  like  every  Oriental  place  of  the  sort, 
shabby  and  dirty. 

The  Fondak  itself,  which  has  no  water  near  it,  is 
worse,  although  natives,  and  Spanish  men  and  women, 
who  are  no  more  fastidious,  do  spend  one  night  there. 
The  Fondak  would  be  called  in  New  England  a  cow- 
yard.  It  is  simply  a  large,  square  inelosure,  built 
of  stone,  and  whitewashed.  Within  are  some  open 
arches,  that  afford  a  slight  shelter  to  man  and  beast  in 
stormy  weather.  A  couple  of  the  arches  are  inclosed, 
forming  dark  chambers,  where  we  are  told  people 
sleep.  Like  the  rest  of  the  place,  these  rooms  are 
full  of  vermin,  filth,  and  fleas.  This  is,  and  has  been, 
I  suppose,  for  ages,  the  only  sort  of  resting-place  be- 
tween two  large  cities  that  have  daily  communication, 
and  considerable  commerce.  We  met,  on  our  return, 
a  gay  cavalcade,  Spanish  ladies  and  gentlemen,  going 
down  to  visit  the  consul  at  Tetuan,  who  had  spent  the 
night  in  this  khan ;  also  a  company  of  Jews,  among 
them  some  very  handsome  women,  who  had  also  passed 
the  night  in  that  filthy  place.  Oriental  and  Spanish 
women  can  do  this  sort  of  thing,  and  still  look  pretty, 
—  look  even  like  the  painted  rose. 

It  was  two  hours  and  a  half  after  midday  when  we 
aroused  our  nodding  train,  and  the  Life  Guardsman 
put  liimself  again  valiantly  in  the  advance.  The 
beasts  had  not  been  fed.  It  is  a  piece  of  Oriental 
cruelty  to  let  vv'orkiug  animals  toil   all   day  without 


176     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEr. 

food.  The  path  was  as  rugged  as  it  could  be,  and  be 
a  path,  like  the  bed  of  a  mountain  torrent,  vip  and 
down  sharp  hills  and  through  desert  ravines.  The  old 
bridle  path  up  Mount  Washington  in  its  best  days 
was  not  so  bad.  We  went  on  miles  and  miles,  stum- 
bling and  sliding  over  the  rocks  ;  and  I  had  always 
before  me  that  hatefid  bundle  of  soldier,  with  his 
capote  down  over  his  head,  having  only  this  one  trait 
of  a  great  soldier,  that  he  was  as  silent  as  a  fish.  The 
only  exclamation  he  made  all  the  afternoon  was  when 
we  came  to  the  summit  of  a  sharp  ridge.  Turning  in 
his  saddle,  and  pointing  forward,  he  cried  out,  "  Tet- 
uan !  "  And  thei'e,  over  the  intervening  mountains, 
like  a  vision  in  the  sky,  was  the  fair  town  of  our  pil- 
grimage, lifted  up  on  a  mountain  ridge,  a  long,  wdiite 
streak,  white  as  chalk,  and  beyond  it  the  sapphire  blue 
sea.  Even  at  this  distance  —  and  we  must  have  been 
over  fifteen  miles  away  —  the  walls  and  houses  of  the 
town  shone  dazzling  white,  and  hung  in  the  sky  like  a 
city  dropped  out  of  heaven.  Not  so  glorious  for  sit- 
uation as  the  New  Jerusalem,  doubtless,  but  more  glo- 
rious than  the  old  Jerusalem  from  any  point  of  view  I 
ever  beheld  it.  We  were  so  elevated  that  the  sea  be- 
yond it  seemed  close  to  its  walls,  and  we  did  not  know 
then  that  between  the  city  and  the  sea  lay  a  flat  plain, 
at  least  six  miles  across. 

Inspired  by  this  glorious  picture,  we  felt  tliat  we 
were  almost  at  our  journey's  end ;  but  the  sight  was 
like  a  cup  of  cool  water  presented  to  the  lips  of  a 
thirsty  traveler,  and  then  withdrawn.     The  city  dis- 


ACROSS  AFRICA.  177 

appeared  as  we  plunged  down  the  steep  path,  and  it 
was  weary  hours  before  we  saw  it  again. 

The  sun  was  getting  low  when  we  emerged  into  a 
windy  plain,  cultivated,  and  traversed  by  a  consider- 
able stream.  Here  were  signs  of  life  again  :  laborers 
on  foot  and  on  donkeys  were  moving  over  the  plain, 
and  groups  of  women  and  girls  in  white  garments, 
idling  by  the  stream,  told  us  that  we  were  near  habi- 
tations. On  the  spur  of  a  mountain  opposite  appeared 
the  white  houses  of  a  Moorish  village.  We  must  be 
near  Tetuan  at  last.  On  this  plain  was  fought  the 
last  battle  between  the  Spaniards  and  the  Moors,  in 
the  war  of  1860-61,  and  before  the  capture  of  Tetuan. 
I  urged  the  Old  Turtle  over  it  at  a  livelier  gait,  much 
against  his  will.  We  crossed  a  substantial  bridge 
with  Moorish  arches,  turned  the  spur  of  the  mountain 
that  we  had  been  approaching  for  hours,  and  again 
beheld  Tetuan,  a  long,  white  mass  on  its  hill,  appar- 
ently close  at  hand.  In  a  few  moments  we  shoidd 
enter  its  white  gates,  and,  thanks  to  the  protection  of 
our  dollar-a-day  Moslem  knight,  be  safe  from  the  nu- 
merous wild  boars,  monkeys,  hyenas,  jackals,  gazelles, 
and  ostriches  promised  us  as  sure  to  be  encountered 
on  the  way,  by  the  guide-book,  —  none  of  wliich,  owing 
to  our  protector,  had  put  in  an  appearance.  The  plain 
on  which  we  had  now  entered,  a  rich  bottom  land, 
watered  by  a  winding  river,  and  inclosed  on  every  side 
by  high  mountains,  seemed  one  continuous  wheat  field, 
—  an  emerald  in  a  gray  setting.  Here  and  there  on 
the  hills  to  the  right  were  white  villas,  and  at  the 

12 


178     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

southern  end  the  white  town  rose  beautified  in  the 
slanting  rays  of  the  sun. 

The  plain  jJroved  of  vaster  extent  than  we  supposed. 
Our  road  along  the  hillside  was  far  from  level.  We 
descended  into  gorges  and  emerged  again,  we  caught 
sight  of  the  town  and  lost  it  again  and  again,  until,  in 
our  weariness,  it  seemed  a  very  will-o'-the-wisp  of  a 
city,  shown  to.  us  and  removed  by  the  enchantment  of 
a  genius.  It  was  over  an  hour  and  a  half  from  the 
time  of  striking  the  plain  that  the  road  became  so  cut 
up  and  utterly  abominable  that  we  knew  we  must  be 
near  a  largo  city.  We  were  now  involved  in  cactus 
lanes,  and  splashing  along  through  muddy  pools ; 
crowded  and  jostled  by  laborers  and  donkeys,  and 
herds  of  cattle  and  sheep  being  driven  inside  the  walls 
for  the  nidit.  Within  the  outer  wall  of  all  these  Ori- 
ental  cities  and  the  first  row  of  houses  is  usually  a 
vacant  space  for  the  herding  of  cattle. 

Ascending  the  last  slippery  slope,  we  found  our- 
selves under  the  high  city  wall.  Behind  and  above 
the  town  on  the  hill  rose  a  harmless-looking  citadel. 
On  our  left,  projecting  from  the  wall,  was  what  is 
called  a  battery,  which  looked  like  a  school-house  with 
guns  in  the  second  story.  We  followed  the  wall  to 
the  right,  and  entered  by  a  great  gate,  in  which  a  lot 
of  loafers  playing  soldier  were  lounging.  They  hailed 
us  and  ran  after  us,  demanding  an  entrance  fee  ;  but 
we  took  no  heed  of  their  necessities,  pushed  on  through 
the  herds  of  cattle,  entered,  and  crossed  the  big  market 
square  of  the  city,  siuTOunded  by  shabby  buildings  and 


ACROSS  AFRICA.  179 

resembling  a  stock-yard,  —  a  place  humming  with 
Oriental  life,  with  whose  fantastic  squalor  and  pictur- 
esqueness  all  travelers  in  the  East  are  familiar.  We 
turned  from  this  square  into  a  narrow  street,  into 
other  and  yet  other  narrow  streets,  lined  with  little 
shops  and  dens  where  human  beings  labor  and  sleep, 
into  a  region  swarming  with  life,  swimming  in  grease, 
and  over  cobble-stone  pavements  slippery  with  refuse, 
into  the  quarter  of  the  Jews,  and  alighted  at  the  house 
of  Isaac  Nahon,  Jew  by  religion,  British  vice-consul 
by  title,  keeper  of  a  house  of  entertainment  by  occu- 
pation. O  Tetuan,  Tetuan,  we  said,  that  shone  so 
white  and  pure  in  the  distance,  what  a  whited  sepul- 
chre you  are ! 

But  the  street  and  the  house  of  Isaac  were  clean. 
We  were  admitted  (the  mules,  for  a  wonder,  staying 
outside)  into  a  house  thoroughly  Moorish  in  design, 
—  a  court  in  the  centre,  open  up  to  the  stars  above, 
upon  which  aU  the  rooms  in  all  the  stories  looked. 
From  the  gallery  on  the  second  floor,  upon  which  our 
rooms  opened,  we  talked  with  the  family  in  the  court 
below,  and  held  communication  with  the  kitchen.  Our 
rooms  were  long,  narrow,  and  high,  with  little  win- 
dows at  one  end  (for  these  houses  are  built  to  exclude 
the  sun),  Moorish-arch  doorways  and  hangings,  and 
the  walls  ornamented  with  strips  of  the  painted  wood, 
cut  in  Arabic  designs,  for  the  manufacture  of  which 
Tetuan  has  a  reputation.  In  the  morning  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see  how  much  light  came  in  at  my  diminu- 
tive window,  but  the  secret  of  it  was  explained  when  I 


180     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

looked  out.  All  the  houses  are  whitewashed ;  all  the 
flat  roofs,  every  inch  of  them,  are  whitewashed :  and 
this  reflected  glare  of  the*  sun  makes  every  room  lu- 
minous to  which  a  ray  of  light  is  admitted. 

The  charm  of  Tetuan,  which  is  a  city  of  about 
twenty-five  thousand  inhabitants,  exists  somewhat  in 
the  imagination.  Only  a  little  over  half  the  people 
are  Moors ;  there  are  resident  here  several  hundred 
Spaniards,  and  some  eight  thousand  Jews.  But  Tetuan 
is  the  city  of  Barbary  most  romantically  connected 
with  Spain.  In  every  city  of  Andalusia  is  a  street 
called  Tetuan.  Tetuan  was  in  fact  founded  by  the 
Moors  when  they  were  finally  expelled  from  Granada 
by  the  religious  zeal  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  —  a 
loss  of  skillful  artificers  and  chivalrous  poetical  people 
from  which  Granada  has  never  recovered.  The  only 
tilings  in  Granada  worthy  of  the  traveler's  interest  are 
the  reminiscences  of  the  Moors.  It  is  always  said  that 
the  expelled  Moors,  who  carried  away  with  them  such 
wealth  as  they  could  save  from  the  rapacious  Span- 
iards, and  endeavored  to  reproduce  their  luxurious 
houses  in  Tetuan,  expected  some  day  to  return  to 
Granada  and  the  Alhambra.  We  are  told  that  their 
descendants  to-day  cherish  the  same  hope,  and  that 
they  preserve  the  title-deeds  to  their  Spanish  posses- 
sions, and  the  keys  to  their  houses  in  Granada.  I 
think  the  latter  part  of  the  statement  is  apocryphal. 
It  is  hardly  probable  that  keys  would  be  preserved 
hundreds  of  years,  in  the  hope  of  using  them,  to 
houses  that  have  not  existed  for  centuries ;  and  it  is 


ACROSS  AFRICA.  181 

doubtful  If  the  intelligent  Moors  of  Morocco  have  to- 
day any  higher  ambition  than  getting  what  they  can 
out  of  the  government,  escaping  taxation,  and  living 
at  ease. 

When  one  sees  the  beggars  and  the  commonplace 
and  shabby  condition  of  Spanish  Granada,  and  regrets 
the  expulsion  of  the  Moors,  he  may  perhaps  give  a 
new  turn  to  his  reflections  by  visiting  Tetuan.  What 
have  the  Moors  done  since  they  left  Granada  ?  Have 
they  not  retrograded  in  every  art  and  refinement  of 
life  ?  Had  the  race  not  culminated  in  the  splendor  of 
the  Alhambra?  Had  not  the  Moorish  civilization  run 
its  natural  career,  and  come  near  to  its  close  at  the 
time  of  the  conquest  ?  What  have  the  Moors  ever 
done  since,  anywhere,  that  has  been  of  the  least  serv- 
ice to  the  world  ?  Moors  and  Spaniards  alike  went 
into  a  decline  after  the  brilliant  epoch  of  the  conquest 
and  of  discovery;  and  if  Spain  recovers,  it  will  be 
owing  wholly  to  the  actual  contact  with  modern  civil- 
ization, which  has  been  wanting  to  the  Moors.  If, 
when  the  Moors  departed,  the  stately  and  luxurious 
Alhambra  could  have  been  locked  up,  saved  from  the 
destruction  and  the  neglect  of  the  Spaniards,  and  pre- 
served to  modern  curiosity  and  intelligence,  the  trav- 
eler might  be  content,  and  regret  neither  the  expulsion 
of  the  Moslems  nor  the  occux3ation  of  the  Christians. 

The  street  where  we  lodged  was,  as  I  have  said, 
clean  ;  but  it  was  very  narrow,  and  the  line  of  high 
whitewashed  houses  on  either  side,  presenting  a  sur- 
face of  solid  wall  broken  only  by  small  grated  win- 


182     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

clows,  was  entirely  Moorish  in  its  character.  Few 
other  portions  of  the  compact  city  were  so  clean.  It 
was  market-day,  the  clay  we  spent  in  Tetuan,  and  the 
best  occasion  for  seeing  the  country  people  and  the  life 
of  the  place.  The  open  squares  and  streets  of  shops 
swarmed  with  buyers  and  sellers  and  calm  waiters  on 
Providence.  The  crowd  had  a  certain  picturesqueness, 
but  it  wanted  the  color  of  many  Oriental  populations, 
for  the  uniform  dress  is  white,  or  dirty  white  and  dirty 
brown,  and  of  very  coarse  material.  The  exceptions 
are  the  Jews,  who  wear,  as  in  Tangier,  black  skull- 
caps, and  the  few  Moorish  gentlemen  and  rich  shop- 
keepers, whose  voluminous  turbans  and  amply  flowing 
robes  of  spotless  silk  and  linen  present  the  true  Ori- 
ental type  of  luxurious  magnificence. 

The  guide-books  are  always  beseeching  the  traveler 
to  admire  the  Jewesses  of  Tangier  and  Tetuan.  As 
these  women  go  unveiled,  it  is  easy  to  do  so.  They 
use  color  in  their  street  apparel,  a  sort  of  broad  em- 
broidered bands  worn  longitudinally  on  the  dress. 
Those  past  youth  are  usually  rather  gross  in  form  and 
face,  but  the  young  women  have  regular  features,  — 
some  of  them  a  faultless  form,  fine  eyes,  and  a  good 
complexion  ;  and  all  of  them  are  many  shades  lighter 
than  the  men.  A  really  handsome  woman,  however, 
is  usually  such  a  surprise  to  the  traveler  in  Africa,  as 
she  is  in  Southern  Spain,  that  he  is  apt  to  fall  into  an 
extravagance  of  gratitude  for  the  sight.  The  Moorish 
women  may  be  equally  alluring,  but  they  cover  all  of 
the  face  except  the  eyes.     I  noticed  here,  as  I  had  no- 


ACROSS  AFRICA.  183 

ticecl  on  tlie  plain  the  evening  before,  that  the  women 
wore  short  leggins  of  red  leather.  These  are  survivals 
of  the  Roman  fascia?,  and  are  exactly  such  as  were 
worn  by  the  Moorish  women  of  Granada,  as  may  be 
seen  in  a  curious  bas-i'ellef  representing  the  baptism 
of  Moslem  women,  after  the  conquest,  In  the  chapel  of 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  at  Granada. 

Tetuan  has  not  many  good  shops,  though  It  has  in 
one  quarter  a  nest  of  narrow  streets  lined  with  tiny 
rooms,  just  big  enough  to  hold  the  dealer  and  his 
stuffs,  and  roofed  over  by  trellises  covered  with  grape- 
vines, which  will  pass  for  a  bazaar.  It  is  a  cool  and 
agreeable  retreat  out  of  the  glare  of  the  sun  and  the 
dust  and  clamor  of  the  market-squares,  and  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  sit  down  and  bargain  with  a  coolly  dressed, 
regular-featured  Moslem,  Vv^ho  Is  In  no  haste  to  sell, 
and  whose  courtesy  Is  rather  that  of  the  gentleman 
than  the  shop-keeper.  These  dealers  have  intercourse 
with  Rabat,  Fez,  TImbuctoo,  and  other  towns  in  the 
interior,  and  can  offer  you  barbarous  embroideries  and 
other  curiosities.  Tetuan  is  famous,  also,  as  a  manu- 
factory of  red  and  yellow  bags  of  the  soft  leather 
which  takes  its  name  of  morocco  from  this  country  In 
which  It  Is  made.  Part  of  the  traffic  on  market-day 
is  done  by  auctioneers,  who  carry  their  goods  upon 
their  arms,  and  push  about  In  the  crowd,  asking  for 
bids.  They  repeat  continually  their  last  offer,  and 
sell  only  when  their  price  is  obtained.  If  the  orig- 
inal bidder  desires  to  raise  his  bid  and  compete  for 
the   article,   he   must   follow   the   auctioneer.     I   be- 


184     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

lieve  tlic  fellows  are  quite  honest  in  stating  the  latest 
offer, 

Tetuan  is  no  more  pleasing  interiorly  than  any  other 
Oriental  town.  It  is  a  mass  of  lanes,  abominably 
paved,  and  presents  to  the  sight-seer  only  dead  walls, 
with  here  and  there  a  door.  But  looking  up  the  nar- 
row streets,  we  saw,  above  the  flat  roofs,  the  sharp 
mountain  peaks,  which  seemed  in  the  clear  air  very 
near,  and  reminded  us  of  the  situation  of  Innsbruck 
in  the  Tyrol.  One  might  walk  the  streets  forever,  and 
have  no  hint  of  the  luxury  and  even  magnificence  of 
the  dwellings  masked  by  the  dead  walls.  The  open- 
ing of  a  door,  and  the  passage  of  a  winding  entrance, 
tiled  and  decorated,  may  admit  one  to  an  eartlily  par- 
adise, —  a  palace  amid  gardens  sometimes  occupying 
an  entire  square.  By  the  courtesy  of  the  Spanish  con- 
sul, whose  residence  and  garden  are  of  considerable 
extent  in  the  heart  of  the  town,  we  were  taken  to  see 
some  of  the  best  Moorish  palaces.  For  spaciousness, 
elegance,  and  sumptuousness  there  is  nothing  com- 
parable to  them  in  Tangier.  One  was  a  specimen  of 
the  best  old  Moorish  houses :  open  courts  with  foun- 
tains, surrounded  by  light  colonnades,  and  galleries 
above ;  cool  recessed  apartments,  open  to  the  air  and 
the  sight  of  falling  water,  and  yet  shaded  from  the 
sun,  —  apartments  with  the  dado  of  slightly  lustred 
tUes,  the  walls  painted  in  toned  colors,  the  ceilings  of 
carved  old  wood,  gilded  and  softly  colored,  furnished 
with  divans  and  luxurious  rugs.  The  courtly  old  Moor 
who  showed  us  his  apartments  and  did  not  offer  to 


ACROSS  AFRICA.  185 

show  us  Ills  harem,  looked  as  if  he  had  passed  a  long 
and  useful  life  in  voluptuous  repose.  As  we  went 
about  the  house  —  time  had  been  given,  while  we 
waited  in  the  vestibule  to  warn  the  women  —  we  could 
hear  scurrying  of  slippered  feet,  and  there  was  a  great 
opening  and  shutting  of  doors,  through  the  openings 
of  which  we  saw  curious  female  eyes  peering  at  the 
foreigners.  But  the  proprietor  did  not  think  it  neces- 
sary to  hide  from  our  view  the  numerous  female  slaves, 
who  had  charge  of  the  children,  or  who  were  engaged 
in  other  domestic  work.  The  house  contained  many 
delightful  pieces  of  the  old  wood-work,  ancient  inlaid 
doors  and  latticed  windows.  The  charm  of  the  house 
was  completed  by  a  large  walled  garden,  delicious  to 
the  senses  with  the  odors  of  the  orange,  the  lemon,  the 
jessamine  and  the  rose,  and  marble  ponds  and  foun- 
tains of  sparkling  water. 

Another  Moorish  house  that  we  \asited  was  quite 
new,  and  built  and  occupied  by  the  late  finance  minis- 
ter of  the  Emperor,  whose  finances  had  thrived,  what- 
ever had  happened  to  his  master's.  The  house  was 
equal  in  extent  and  stateliness  to  the  old  one,  but 
lacked  the  subdued  taste  in  decoration.  It  was  over- 
gilded and  over-splendid,  and  its  noblest  apartments 
were  incongruously  furnished  with  French  clocks, 
French  chairs,  rows  of  mirrors,  and  staring  rugs. 
Yet  one  of  its  long  and  gilded  apartments,  notwith- 
standing its  somewhat  oppressive  luxury,  would  be  a 
charming  retreat  in  the  warm  season.  Through  its 
arches  on  one  side  we  saw  the  open-pillared  court  and 


186     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

the  fountain,  while  from  a  row  of  windows  level  to  the 
floor,  on  the  other  side,  we  looked  over  the  vast  extent 
of  green  plain  to  the  blue  Mediterranean,  from  which 
a  refreshing  breeze  entered  this  abode  of  luxury,  the 
owner  of  which  probably  never  troubled  himself  with 
the  query.  Is  Life  Worth  Living  ? 

We  ascended  the  hillside  to  the  citadel,  wliich  com- 
mands the  town.  The  city  sjjread  out  below  us,  and 
was  larger  than  we  thought  it  when  looking  at  it  from 
without ;  and  the  entire  prospect  was  one  of  the  most 
interesting  to  be  beheld  anywhere.  The  uniform  flat 
roofs  of  the  entire  city  and  its  dazzling  whiteness  were 
broken  only  by  a  few  towers  and  a  dozen  minarets, 
some  of  them  octagonal  and  covered  with  green  tiles. 
We  stood  upon  the  end  of  a  long  spur  of  the  Riff 
Mountains.  Fertile  plains  spread  away  on  either 
side,  bounded  by  the  blue  sea  and  by  bold  serrated 
hills. 

When  we  descended  the  steep  and  winding  streets 
we  had  a  fleeting  vision  of  beauty.  From  a  high  win- 
dow, just  large  enough  to  frame  her  face,  looked  out  a 
Moorish  woman,  with  dark  eyes  of  fascination  and 
perhaps  of  sin ;  for  no  woman  of  a  well-regulated 
harem  will  show  her  face  to  a  man.  If  she  was  as 
handsome  as  she  was  painted,  she  was  a  dangerous 
person.  The  native  women  of  Tetuan,  our  guide  said, 
are  famous  for  their  beauty,  and  the  town  lends  itself 
to  adventure.  Over  the  flat  roofs  one  can  with  ease 
and  security  go  all  over  the  city,  and  the  Moorish 
girls  not  seldom  evade  the  watch  of  doors  and  win- 


ACROSS  AFRICA.  187 

dows,  and  cross  the  house-tops  at  night  to  keep  ap- 
pointments with  their  lovers. 

Still  descending,  we  encountered  in  a  narrow  street, 
for  contrast,  a  funeral  procession.  The  body  of  a 
woman,  scantily  wrapped  in  a  white  cloth,  and  resting 
on  a  light,  rude  bier,  was  borne  upon  the  shoulders  of 
men,  who  advanced  at  a  rapid  pace.  The  bier  was 
followed  by  a  motley  procession  of  men  and  women, 
chanting  a  lament  in  an  unearthly,  shrill,  minor  key. 
The  haste,  the  shabbiness,  the  mournful  notes,  were  fit 
to  Avring  one's  heart,  breaking  in  as  they  did  upon  the 
careless  life  of  the  buzzing  streets,  and  it  was  long  be- 
fore the  sad  refrain  passed  out  of  our  memory. 

The  house  of  Nahon,  the  Jew,  was  a  pleasant  place 
of  shelter,  in  our  brief  stay.  Although  it  is  Moorish 
in  style,  and  the  iridescent  tiles  of  the  interior  door- 
ways recall  the  skill  of  another  race  than  the  Jewish, 
there  is  a  Hebrew  atmosphere  throughout.  On  the 
side  of  the  doorways  to  two  of  our  rooms,  I  discovered 
a  tiny  recess,  not  more  than  three  inches  long  and  an 
inch  deep.  It  contained  a  little  roll  of  parchment, 
transcribed  with  Hebrew,  and  I  remembered  the  in- 
junction of  Jehovah  to  this  ancient  people  :  Write  my 
words  on  thy  doorposts. 

With  our  dessert  at  dinner  we  were  served  with  a 
new  confection,  —  orange  blossoms  cooked  in  honey. 
Nothing  could  be  more  appetizing  in  the  sound  than 
this  tridy  Oriental  sweetmeat ;  it  tasted  like  sweetened 
turpentine.  The  house  of  Nahon,  like  other  houses  in 
the  city,  distills  a  great  quantity  of  orange-flower  water 


188     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

from  tlie  blossoms.  The  oranges  o£  Tetiian  are  very 
large,  fine  of  skin  and  firm  of  flesh,  and  delicious. 
After  eating  the  sour  fruit  of  Southern  Italy  and 
Sicily,  one  appreciates  the  luscious  oranges  of  Malta 
and  Barbary. 

We  were  off  at  an  early  hour  for  Tangier,  for  we 
had  before  us  the  endurance  of  eleven  hours  in  the 
saddle,  exclusive  of  the  noon  siesta,  over  a  route  which 
had  lost  its  charm  of  novelty.  The  Life  Guardsman, 
whom  we  had  not  seen  since  he  came  in  the  mornina; 
after  our  arrival  to  kiss  our  hands,  —  a  truly  knightly 
hint  for  backsheesh,  —  turned  up,  smiling,  after  a  day 
of  repose  from  the  actual  hardships  of  war  on  the  first 
day.  But  to  our  disgust,  when  he  mounted  and  led 
the  way  out  of  town,  we  saw  that  his  fiery  military 
ardor  had  abated.  He  no  longer  wore  liis  sword,  — 
our  sole  dignity  of  appearance,  —  but  had  given  it  to 
the  mule  driver  to  carry.  I  had  the  curiosity  to  ex- 
amine this  weapon  of  war,  upon  which  we  had  relied. 
It  took  the  united  and  prolonged  effort  of  the  guide 
and  myself  to  draw  it  from  its  scabbard,  in  which  it 
was  firndy  rusted.  I  do  not  suppose  it  had  been 
drawn  before  in  all  the  wars  our  brave  trooper  had 
engaged  in.  With  the  sword  in  the  hands  of  the 
mule  driver,  our  martial  appearance  fell  to  zero. 

We  were  five  hours  in  reaching  the  Fondak.  The 
Turtle  had  evidently  made  up  his  mind  that  his 
carcass  should  not  be  jolted  by  a  trot  in  returning. 
The  only  new  objects  we  saw  during  the  morning 
were  a  sj)ecies  of  bird,  that  kept  close  to  the  cattle  in 


ACROSS  AFRICA.  189 

the  plain  where  the  natives  were  plowing.  The  Arabs 
call  them  cow-birds,  because  they  always  attend  the 
cattle,  as  the  crocodile-birds  do  the  Egyptian  saurians. 

Before  setting  out,  after  our  halt  of  one  hour  and  a 
half  at  the  Fondak,  I  insisted  that  the  mules,  who  had 
drant:  nothing  since  morning,  should  be  watered.  The 
soldier  refused  to  permit  it,  and  moved  off.  I  asked 
the  reason,  and  w^as  told  that  the  beasts  were  too 
warm,  and  that  they  could  be  watered  in  the  river, 
which  was  just  ahead.  Knowing  that  Orientals  sel- 
dom give  the  true  reason  for  anything,  I  asked  again. 
The  reply  was  that  the  water  in  the  spring  was  too 
low,  but  they  woidd  get  water  directly.  I  could  not 
see  how  the  mules  would  be  any  cooler  with  more 
travel  in  the  heat,  but  I  was  obliged  to  yield,  although 
my  animal  was  evidently  distressed  for  drink.  It  was 
over  an  hour  and  a  half  before  we  reached  the  river, 
and  there  the  animals  had  to  drink  from  a  stagnant 
pool.  Why  this  cruelty  was  practiced,  I  coidd  not 
understand. 

When  we  set  out  from  the  Fondak  we  took  a  dif- 
ferent route  from  the  one  we  had  come  by.  I  in- 
quired the  reason,  and  the  answer  was  that  this  route 
was  shorter  and  better.  It  was  the  track  I  had 
noticed  as  diverging  from  ours,  on  the  morning  we 
left  Tangier.  I  then  asked  where  it  led,  and  w^as 
told  that  it  went  to  Tetuan,  but  that  it  was  a  longer 
and  more  difficult  road !  This  was  Orientalism,  pure 
and  simple.  This  return  route,  we  found,  was  in  fact 
an  hour  longer  ;  it  was  hiUy  and  stony,  with  hardly  a 


190     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

rod  o£  it  tliat  we  could  trot  over.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  our  protector  took  this  long  and  rough  way  out 
of  revenge,  because  I  had  pushed  his  pace  on  the 
journey  out,  and  because  it  was  impossible  to  move 
over  it  faster  than  a  walk. 

I  was  never  so  tired  of  anything  as  I  was  of  that 
soldier's  back.  But  there  is  an  end  to  everything, 
says  the  proverb,  except  the  tongue  of  woman,  and 
before  sunset  we  came  out  upon  the  vast  and  lovely 
plain  near  Tangier.  The  western  sky  was  flecked 
with  light  clouds  of  burnished  crimson  and  gold.  The 
broad  fields  of  wheat  waved  green  in  many  shifting 
shades,  interspersed  with  patches  of  a  yellow  bloom, 
in  the  slanting  rays.  It  was  a  marvelous  effect  of 
color.  Long  shadows  were  cast  over  the  plain  by  the 
flocks  of  sheep,  goats,  and  cattle,  and  the  slowly  mov- 
ing groups  of  peasants,  returning  from  labor  to  the 
Arab  village  on  the  hill,  upon  the  roofs  of  which  the 
storks  were  already  perched  for  evening  meditation. 
Good-by,  lazy,  picturesque  Africa  ! 

As  we  rounded  the  last  ridge,  there  were  the  sea 
beach,  the  sands  of  gold  burning  in  the  light,  the 
waves  white^capped  and  racing  before  an  eastern 
breeze,  and,  beyond,  the  jmrple  mountains  of  Spain. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

ALONG   THE   SPANISH   COAST. 

To  reach  Cadiz  from  Tangier,  it  Is  usually  neces- 
sary to  go  to  Gibraltar,  tlius  making  two  voyages  on 
the  strait.  We  thought  ourselves  fortunate,  there- 
fore, when  a  Spanish  steamer  came  into  port,  one 
evening,  bound  for  Cadiz.  Passage  was  taken,  and 
we  were  on  board  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
The  steamer  was  a  small  tug-propeller,  with  a  weak 
engine,  an  inclination  to  roll  and  pitch  simultaneously, 
with  that  peculiar  corkscrew  motion  that  landsmen 
loathe,  and  absolutely  no  accommodation  for  passen- 
gers except  a  chance  to  lie  on  deck,  or  sit  on  the  hatch- 
way and  hang  on  with  both  hands.  It  was  a  charm- 
ing day ;  the  wind  west,  the  sky  blue,  with  scattered 
white  clouds  sailing  in  it,  and  the  coasts  of  Africa 
and  Europe  In  sharp  outline.  When  we  got  away 
into  the  strait,  and  began  to  feel  the  long  swell  of  the 
Atlantic,  nothing  could  be  more  inviting  tlian  the  fair, 
indented  Spanish  coast,  —  the  blue  water  lapping  the. 
whlte  sand  ridges,  the  shining  cities  and  towers,  the 
rolling  hills  behind  ;  and  yet,  as  we  turned  to  look 
upon  receding  Africa,  the  green  bluffs  and  white 
houses  of  Tangier,  the  mass  of  mountains  rising  Into 


192     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

the  snowy  heights  of  the  Atlas,  we  felt  reluctance  to 
leave  it.  Our  reluctance  was  indulged.  The  dirty 
little  tug,  discouraged  by  the  Atlantic  waves,  had  no 
heart  to  drive  on,  but  staggered  about  like  a  footman 
in  a  plowed  field,  unable  to  make  more  than  five  miles 
an  hour.  All  day  long  we  loafed  along  the  charming 
coast  of  Spain,  the  sport  of  the  waves,  which  tossed  us 
and  fliuig  us ;  laughed  at  by  the  merry  breeze,  which 
dashed  us  with  spray  :  cheered  by  the  sun  and  the  blue 
sky ;  wearied  beyond  endurance  Avitli  trying  to  keep 
our  seats  on  the  slanting  hatchway  ;  diverted  by  the 
historic  pageant,  points,  bays,  watch-towers,  and  towns 
famous  in  wars  and  adventure.  And  we  had  time  to 
study  the  shore  ;  for  "  passing  a  given  point "  was  not 
the  forte  of  the  little  Pablo.  It  was  often  a  matter  of 
doubt  whether  we,  or  some  town  or  jjoint  of  wJiich 
we  were  abreast,  were  going  ahead.  In  this  way  we 
loitered  along  the  low  sandy  lines  of  Cape  Trafalgar, 
where  the  dashing  Nelson,  at  a  quarter  past  one  o'clock 
on  the  21st  of  October,  1805,  received  his  death- 
wound.  Inland  a  few  miles  is  the  Laguna  de  Janda, 
near  which,  in  711,  Tarili,  in  a  single  battle,  won  Sixain 
for  the  Moslems.  All  this  coast  has  been  fought  over. 
Farther  along  to  the  west  is  the  knoll  of  Barrosa, 
where  the  allied  English  and  Spaniards  barely  escaped 
defeat  in  1811.  We  are  long  in  sight  of  San  Fer- 
nandino,  which  we  mistake  for  Cadiz,  —  a  gay-looking 
city,  straggling  along  the  shore,  distinguished  by  a 
great  observatory,  the  southernmost  on  the  continent 
of  Europe.     Abreast  of  it  is  La  Isla  de  Leon,  an  isl- 


ALONG    THE   SPANISH  COAST.  193 

and  which  masqueraded  under  half  a  dozen  classic 
names,  and  is  believed  to  be  the  place  v/here  the  fat 
cattle  which  Hercules  stole  were  fed.  A  different 
breed  of  bulls  is  bred  on  it  now,  for  the  ring.  The 
island  gets  its  nr.me  from  the  Ponce  de  Leon  family, 
to  whom  it  was  for  a  time  granted  in  the  fifteenth 
century.  The  marshes  here  are  celebrated  for  the 
production  of  salt,  and  delicious  small  crabs,  —  a  most 
obliging  animal,  which  grows  its  claws  again  after  the 
epicures  have  torn  them  off  and  cast  the  crab  adrift. 

We  stayed  here,  loitering  over  the  waves,  long 
enough  for  a  crab  to  grow  new  claws.  Cadiz  was  at 
last  in  sight,  brilliant  white  over  the  blue  sea,  con- 
spicuous with  its  hundred  mir adores.  We  thought 
our  long  agony  was  over.  We  drew  near  to  Cadiz, 
we  sailed  along  it,  we  kept  on  and  on  and  sailed  by  it, 
and  appeared  to  be  making  for  another  city  across  the 
bay,  which  we  began  to  think  must  be  the  real  Cadiz. 
But  the  fact  was  that  we  were  beating  entirely  around 
the  city  to  get  into  the  channel  that  enters  the  harbor 
on  the  west  side.  For  Cadiz  is  on  a  rocky  peninsula, 
the  shape  of  a  ham,  curving  out  into  the  ocean,  and 
its  harbor  is  on  the  narrow  isthmus.  This  peninsula 
rises  from  ten  to  fifty  feet  above  the  sea,  and  white 
Cadiz,  lapped  by  the  blue  sea  on  every  side,  is  like  the 
diamond  setting  of  a  ring  in  turquoise.  Nothing  cer- 
tainly could  be  more  brilliant  than  the  coast  picture 
as  we  saw  it  that  afternoon  :  the  white,  jutting  city 
with  its  strong  walls  and  bastions,  the  dancing,  spark- 
ling sea  flecked  with  lanteen  sails  leaning  from  the 


13 


^ 


194     NOTES   OF  A    ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

breeze,  and  the  white  sand  of  the  curving  shore  twink- 
ling in  the  sun.     It  was  all  life  and  motion. 

There  were  ten  hours  of  pitch  and  toss  before  the 
sluggish  little  tug  anchored  in  the  inner  harbor,  within 
the  breakwater  behind  the  town  ;  and  we  lay  there  an 
hour  longer,  waiting  the  pleasure  of  the  lazy  officials. 
At  six  o'clock  a  sail-boat  came  off,  with  a  health  officer 
and  an  inspector,  and  after  we  were  found  to  be  in 
good  health  we  embarked  on  the  boat  and  sailed  about 
the  harbor  for  half  an  hour  longer,  tacking  back  and 
forth,  before  we  could  make  the  landing.  Besides  our 
company  of  four,  the  only  other  passengers  were  a 
Jew  commercial  traveler  and  a  Tangier  Moor  with  a 
box  of  live  chickens.  We  made  friends  with  the  cus- 
toms officer,  gave  him  an  exact  list  of  our  luggage, 
hand-bags  and  all,  explained  that  we  had  only  the 
ordinary  baggage  of  travelers,  and  thought  our  troub- 
les were  over  when  we  stepped  ashore.  Desperately 
tired,  and  hungry  after  fasting  all  day,  we  inquired 
for  hotel  porters,  and  thanked  the  officer  for  his  cour- 
tesy. The  dock  loafers  picked  up  our  luggage  and 
carried  it  across  the  quay  a  few  steps,  and  deposited  it 
in  a  musty  shed  with  grated  windows.  We  followed 
and  entered,  when  the  polite  official  informed  us  that 
we  could  go  now.     "  It  is  finish." 

"  What  is  finish  ?  "  we  asked,  in  astonishment. 

"  Finish,  the  baggage  ;  you  can't  have  it  till  morn- 
ing." 

"  Can't  have  it?  Wc  must  have  it.  We  cannot 
go  to  the  hotel  without  it." 


ALONG   THE  SPANISH  COAST.  195 

"  Can't  help  that ;  too  late  ;  inspector  gone  home." 
"  That 's  not  onr  fault,"  we  said  ;  "  you  kept  us  wait- 
ing in  the  harbor  an  hour;  and  we  must  have  our 
hand-bass  at  least  —  our  night  clothes  and  brushes  and 
combs.  You  can  see  there  is  nothing  else  in  the  bags. 
This  is  simply  barbarous." 

"  You  can  have  them  in  the  morning." 
"  But  can't  we  take  out  what  we  absolutely  need 
from  the  bags  ?  " 

"Nothing  ;  "  and  the  official  turned  abruptly  away, 
and  left  us  amid  a  pushing,  jeering  crowd  of  Spanish 
spectators,  who  were  bent  on  exhibiting  the  native 
courtesy  to  strangers.  I  inquired  for  the  American 
consul,  and  went  in  search  of  him,  leaving  the  ladies 
seated  on  their  baggage  in  the  musty  room,  near  a 
o-rated  window.  The  crowd  increased  about  the  door 
and  windows,  and  during  the  hour  I  was  absent  the 
ladies  were  the  objects  of  the  most  insulting  remarks. 
I  found  that  the  customs  officials  had  a  reputation  for 
extreme  incivility  and  no  disposition  to  oblige  travelers. 
The  consul  was  prompt  in  his  offers  of  assistance,  and 
set  out  at  once  to  see  what  he  could  do,  but  had  little 
hope  of  extricating  us  from  our  difficulties  that  night. 
But  when  I  returned,  the  appeal  to  the  consul  had  had 
some  effect,  for  we  were  permitted  to  take  a  hand-bag 
each  and  depart.  It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock  beforo 
we  reached  our  hotel.  To  make  the  vexatious  story 
short,  it  occupied  us  all  the  morning  to  get  our  hand- 
fid  of  baggage  free.  The  inspector  did  not  appear  till 
ten  o'clock,  and  I  owed  our  late  deliverance  to  a  young 


196     NOTES   OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

English  resident  of  the  town,  who  tlisjoensed  the  neces- 
sary coin  to  the  officials  and  various  impudent  hang- 
ers-on, who  put  in  preijosterous  claims,  and  got  our 
baggage  away  to  the  railway  station.  "  Your  troubles 
have  just  begun,"  said  our  young  friend;  "  the  Span- 
iards hate  all  strangers,  and  you  will  fmd  little  civil- 
ity." 

This  little  experience  of  our  entry  into  Spain  was  so 
contrary  to  my  preconceived  notions  of  the  behavior 
of  the  "politest  nation  in  Europe"  that  I  have  de- 
parted from  my  usual  habit  in  regard  to  such  annoy- 
ances of  travel,  and  set  it  down.  We  learned  after- 
wards that  the  self-conscious  and  provincial  Spaniard 
has  a  peculiar  way  of  showing  his  suj)erior  breeding. 

Cadiz,  though  old,  looks  modern  in  its  complete  suit 
of  whitewash,  which  is  spread  over  every  building, 
from  basement  to  svminiit.  Its  narrow  streets,  flanked 
by  high  buildings,  are  clean,  and  it  is  well  lighted  and 
paved  and  pleasing  to  the  eye.  But  it  does  not  attract 
the  si"ht-seer.  We  saw  enough  of  it  from  the  hiirh  old 
tov/er.  La  Torre  de  la  Vigia,  whence  we  looked  upon 
the  entire  town,  smokeless,  dustless,  whitewashed,  with 
its  flat  roofs  and  picturesque  look-out  towers.  In- 
deed, the  pecidiarity  of  the  city  is  in  these  towers,  or 
miradores,  of  which  there  are  hundreds  rising  from 
the  lofty  roofs  all  around,  each  one  with  a  little  turret 
on  the  side.  In  the  days  of  her  commercial  prosjjcrity 
the  merchants  of  Cadiz  used  to  ascend  these  to  look 
out  for  their  laden  galleons  returning  from  the  West 
Indies.     They  have  the  air  now  of  being  unused,  and 


ALONG   THE  SPANISH  COAST.  197 

merely  ornamental ;  the  merchants  of  Cadiz  have  little 
to  expect  from  the  Indies,  and  I  doubt  if  they  often 
climb  into  the  miradores  to  see  the  smisets. 

When  the  traveler  has  walked  in  the  spick-span- 
clean  streets,  shaded  by  tall  balconied  houses  in  end- 
less perspective,  peeped  into  the  patios^  the  centre 
courts  of  the  houses,  where  flowers  and  fountains  sug- 
gest family  groups  and  the  guitar,  and  strolled  about 
the  sea  ramparts  to  inhale  the  sea  breeze,  he  will  have 
little  to  detain  him  in  Cadiz.  It  boasts  two  cathe- 
drals, both  despoiled,  and  both  renovated  and  unat- 
tractive. An  idle  man  might  sit  a  good  while  on  the 
sea  wall  and  angle  for  red  mullet  with  a  long  cane, 
and  enjoy  It,  watching  meantime  his  fellow  fishers  the 
gulls.  We  went  to  the  suppressed  Capuchin  convent 
to  see  the  last  picture  Murillo  painted,  —  the  admira- 
bly composed  and  harmoniously  colored  Marriage  of 
St.  Catherine.  The  artist  was  on  a  scaffold  finishing 
this  picture  —  that  was  In  1682  —  when  he  fell  and 
received  injuries  from  which  he  died  shortly  after  in 
Seville.  In  the  same  chapel  Is  another  work  of  this 
master,  St.  Francis  receiving  the  Stigmata,  —  a  charm- 
ing piece. 

We  left  Cadiz  without  reluctance,  yet  I  confess  I 
look  back  upon  It  with  some  longing ;  it  is  so  white 
and  shining  and  historically  resplendent.  I  wish  the 
Romans  or  the  Phoenicians  were  still  there,  or  even 
the  Moors.  I  cannot  be  reconciled  that  this  sea-blown 
picturesque  town  Is  not  more  attractive.  We  went  out 
by  rail  through  interminable  salt  marshes,  where  the 


198     NOTES   OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

salt  is  stacked  up  like  tke  white  tents  of  encamping 
soldiers  ;  keeping  at  first  by  the  sea,  and  then  still 
over  level  and  barren  plains,  to  ground  slightly  roll- 
ing, past  Jerez,  with  its  grpat  whitewashed  sheds, 
which  are  the  famous  hotegas,  or  wine  vaults,  where 
the  sherry  is  manipulated  and  refined ;  and  so  on,  ap- 
proaching the  Guadalquivir  over  land  as  flat  as  a  floor 
and  extensive  as  a  Western  prairie,  and  as  treeless, 
we  came  at  evening  to  the  last  station  before  reaching 
Seville,  eight  miles  distant,  the  poetically  named  Two 
Sisters,  embowered  in  great  orange  gardens.  The 
night  was  mild ;  we  could  see  faintly  the  twinkle  of 
dark  shining  leaves  and  golden  fruit,  and  all  the  air 
was  heavy  with  the  perfume  of  the  blossoms.  It  was 
the  odor  of  the  Spain  of  our  fancy. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  RIDE   IN   SPAIN. 

We  were  at  Jerez,  whicli  is  still  pronounced  as  if 
tlie  name  began  with  an  H,  as  it  used  to  be  when  it 
beo-an  with  an  X ;  the  universal  substitution  of  J  for 
X  is  the  Spanish  spelling  reform  of  the  last  twenty 
years,  —  we  were  at  Jerez,  and  wanted  to  go  across 
the  mountains  to  Eonda.  My  companion  was  an  Ox- 
ford scholar,  who  was  traveling  from  Oxford  through 
the  Church  of  England  towards  those  fresh  religious 
pastures  which  the  modern  faith  of  so  many  of  the 
clergy  of  England  expects  to  find  in  a  future,  when 
the  creeds  shall  be  adjusted  to  the  changing  religious 
perspective. 

We  were  agreed  to  take  a  short  ride  across  a  region 
of  Spain  not  much  vexed  by  tourists,  in  search  of  the 
characteristic  and  the  picturesque.  The  difficulty  was 
to  find  means  of  conveyance;  for  Jerez  was  under- 
going its  annual  three  days'  fair,  and  animals  were  not 
to  be  had  for  money,  the  only  spring  of  movement  or 
attention  to  a  traveler's  wants  in  Spain.  The  town 
was  crowded  and  excited,  the  hotels  charged  double 
price,  —  as  the  Spanish  hotels  do  on  the  least  provo- 
cation,—  and  the  owners  of  horses  and  mules  were 


200    NOTES  OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

coining  money,  transporting  people  to  the  fair-ground, 
the  races,  and  the  bull-fight.  The  races  on  Saturday 
and  Monday,  and  especially  the  bull-fights  on  Sunday, 
were  the  absorbing  attractions  of  the  week. 

Jerez,  which  is  dear  to  the  world  as  the  depot  and 
factory  where  the  Manzanilla  and  kindred  sorts  of 
grape-juice  are  manipulated,  seasoned,  and  colored, 
and  fortified  into  the  various  kinds  of  sherry,  is  ordi- 
narily as  dull  and  uninteresting,  as  modern  and  white- 
washed, as  most  other  Spanish  towns.  We  had  read 
in  the  guide-books  a  great  deal  about  the  couleur  lo- 
cale of  this  and  that  city  of  the  Peninsula.  Observa- 
tion has  taught  us  that  the  couleur  locale  of  Spain  is 
"  whitewash."  Houses,  within  and  without,  are  white- 
washed ;  churches  are  whitewashed ;  walls,  and  monu- 
ments, and  fountain  ed  courts  are  whitewashed  ;  heaps 
of  stone  on  the  highway  for  repairing  the  roads  are 
whitewashed;  everything,  except  the  cactus  hedges, 
the  treeless  hills,  and  the-  bulls,  is  whitewashed. 
Whenever  the  private  owners  of  a  delicious  bit  of  old 
Moorish  ornamental  work  in  stucco  can  have  their  own 
way,  they  whitewash  it. 

It  was  Sunday  in  Jerez.  In  all  the  Sunday-schools 
the  good  children  were  saying,  "  What  a  sweet  Sab- 
bath day  for  a  bull-fight !  "  The  bull-fight  was  not  to 
take  place  till  the  afternoon,  —  so  carefully  do  these 
devout  people  sej)arate  their  religion  from  their  amuse- 
ments. In  this  land,  girls  and  boys  are  taken  at  a 
tender  age  to  the  bull-fight^^,  in  order  that  they  may 
be  accustomed  early  to  the  characteristic  national  pas- 


A   RIDE  IN  SPAIN.  201 

time,  and  not  be  disgusted  with  the  cowardly  cruelty 
and  the  degrading  spectacle  when  they  arrive  at  years 
of  discretion.  Train  up  a  girl  in  the  way  she  should 
go,  and  when  she  is  at  the  most  effective  fair  age  she 
will  not  depart  from  the  arena  so  long  as  there  is  a 
noble  bull  to  be  tortured,  and  a  two  dollar  and  a  half 
hack  of  a  horse  to  be  ripped  open  by  his  horns. 

Our  acquaintances  in  Jerez  tried  to  convince  us 
that  our  proper  way  to  Ronda  was  the  great  railway 
circuit  round  by  Gobantes,  and  thence  by  diligence. 
We  replied  that  the  one  way  we  \vished  specially  to 
avoid  was  the  onp  by  Gobantes.  We  adliered  to  this 
blind  purpose,  and  failing  to  procure  horses  we  took 
places  in  the  old  diligence  for  Arcos,  and  on  Monday 
afternoon,  at  four  o'clock,  mounted  our  seats  beside 
the  driver,  and  set  out  over  the  arid  plain  of  Caidina ; 
leaving  on  our  right  the  once  magnificent  monastery, 
the  Cartxija,  famous  in  old  time  for  its  fine  cloisters 
and  jJdfios,  or  courts,  its  unrivaled  collection  of  pic- 
tures by  Zurbaran,  its  rich  vineyards,  and  its  breeding 
ground  for  Andalusian  horses,  —  a  p'roperly  conducted 
monastery  could  not  well  be  celebrated  for  much 
more. 

Our  driver  was  a  compact  little  man,  roimd-faced 
and  clean  shaven,  —  as  most  of  the  Spaniards  are,  — 
taciturn  to  his  kind,  but  very  communicative  to  him- 
self and  to  his  horses.  We  had  a  team  of  five  horses, 
two  at  the  wheel  and  three  leaders  abreast,  the  latter 
driven  without  reins.  I  noticed  that  the  two  reins 
were  attached  only  to  the  outside  of  the  bits  of  the 


202     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

wheel  horses  ;  the  control  of  the  team  depended  largely 
upon  the  driver's  whip  and  the  power  of  his  lungs. 
The  whip  was  always  swinging  and  cracking  in  the 
air,  and  the  driver  called  to  his  horses  almost  inces- 
santly, and  occasionally  made  them  long  addresses, 
which  they  appeared  to  understand.  The  harnesses 
were  monstrous  constructions  of  heavy,  broad  leather 
straps,  ropes,  and  big  collars ;  the  drawing-traces  were 
ropes ;  each  animal  had  upon  his  headstall  a  string  of 
bells.  The  diligence  was  a  lumbering,  rickety  vehicle, 
which  swayed  and  creaked.  As  soon  as  we  were  un- 
der way,  with  bells  jingling,  whip  cracking,  coach 
creaking ;  the  inside  passengers,  among  whom  was  a 
smart  gejidcmne,  chattering;  the  driver  conversing 
with  his  cattle  ;  the  dust  rising  in  thick  clouds  that  al- 
most hid  from  view  the  hedges  of  cactus  and  aloes 
along  the  road,  and  made  the  crowd  of  laden  donkeys, 
carriages,  and  big  wagons  like  phantoms  in  a  dusty 
dream,  —  when,  I  say,  we  thus  got  under  way,  at  a 
speed,  with  all  tliis  noise  and  tumult,  of  probably  little 
less  than  three  miles  an  hour,  we  felt  that  we  were 
actually  in  Spain.  We  had  sixteen  miles  to  go,  and 
we  made  the  distance  in  about  five  hours. 

The  road  was  a  straight  white  line  across  the  arid 
plain,  a  good  specimen  of  the  treeless,  sun-baked 
wastes  of  Andalusia.  Beyond  were  low  hills,  equally 
denuded  of  foliage  ;  but  when,  after  a  weary  pull,  we 
ascended  among  them,  more  green  appeared,  and  large 
fields  of  grain,  but  sadly  stunted  and  burned  up  by 
the  long  drought.     We  soon,  also,  came   upon  olive 


A  RIDE  IN  SPAIN.  203 

orcliards  among  the  rolling  hills,  but  the  general  as- 
pect of  the  country  was  desolate.  Beyond  the  hills, 
however,  we  saw  glorious  mountains,  and  one  majestic 
dome  of  rock,  which  I  took  to  be  the  Pico  de  S.  Cris- 
toval,  towering  above  the  others.  In  the  transparent 
air  it  seemed  very  near.  The  road,  it  must  be  said, 
was  exceedingly  well  made,  carried  round  curves, 
through  cuts  in  the  hills,  and  over  embankments,  like 
the  graded  track  of  a  railway.  Where  roads  are  made 
at  all,  they  seem  to  be  thorough  pieces  of  work,  very 
different  from  our  make-shift  and  ungraded  highways 
for  wagons. 

At  regular  intervals  on  our  route  we  encountered  a 
couple  of  gendarmes  posted  by  the  roadside,  a  civil 
force  to  which  I  shall  have  occasion  to  refer  airain. 
We  found  two  of  them  at  the  half-way  posada,  where 
we  stopped  to  breathe  and  let  the  passengers  "  wine," 
—  a  good  example  of  the  Spanish  inn  of  the  country. 
This  inn  is  principally  a  stable  ;  but  a  part  of  the  sta- 
ble is  partitioned  off  for  the  family,  and  another  part 
for  the  refreshment  room.  Above  seems  to  be  a  low 
garret.  It  appeared  to  be  altogether  a  very  decent 
place,  for  a  stable,  and  the  proprietor  and  his  \nie  and 
daughters  were  civil.  Spain  is  stiU  the  land  of  riding, 
and  not  of  driving.  After  leaving  the  environs  of 
Jerez,  we  encountered  no  wagon,  but  scores  of  travel- 
ers on  mules,  donkeys,  and  horses.  A  very  good  spec- 
imen of  its  cahallero  dismounted  at  the  inn,  —  a  reso- 
lute, square-riding  man,  on  a  powerful  white  horse, 
who  rode  as  if  he  were  mortised  into  his  "  Mexican  " 


204     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

saddle,  an  embroidered  manta  strapped  behind,  and 
a  gun  in  its  leather  case  hanging  perpendicularly  be- 
hind the  saddle. 

There  were  no  houses  along  the  road,  and  only  here 
and  there  one  on  a  hillside,  whitewashed,  and  com- 
monly with  a  whitewashed  wall  about  the  premises. 
I  suppose  that  those  were  haciendas^  and  that  in  Eng- 
lish an  hacienda  would  be  a  stable  for  mules  and  cat- 
tle, with  family  apartments  above  it. 

All  the  region  for  miles  and  miles  around  Arcos  is 
thickly  planted  with  olives,  which  give  a  pleasing  as- 
pect to  this  hilly  country.  It  was  late  twilight  when 
we  came  clattering  into  the  ancient  town,  and  were  set 
down  at  the  house  where  the  diligence  stopped,  which 
seemed  to  be  presided  over  by  three  old  women.  We 
were  surrounded  at  once  by  a  curious  and  helpful  pop- 
ulation, all  eager  to  seize  our  pieces  of  luggage  and 
bear  them  to  parts  unknown.  The  driver,  who  was 
our  friend,  appeared  to  be  having  a  conference  with 
the  old  women  as  to  whether  they  should  have  the 
plucking  of  us,  or  would  send  us  to  the  regular  posada, 
to  which  we  wished  to  go.  In  the  growing  darkness 
it  was  impossible  to  see  where  we  were,  or  where  the 
posada  was,  and  it  required  all  our  vigilance  to  keep 
track  of  our  luggage.  After  a  great  deal  of  confusion, 
we  found  ourselves  transferred,  bag  and  baggage,  to 
the  posada,  which  was  almost  exactly  opposite,  in  debt 
to  half  the  loafers  of  Arcos  for  their  valuable  assist- 
ance. The  posada,  the  best  in  the  place,  showed  no 
sign  of  light  or  life.     We   entered   the  stables,  and 


A    RIDE  IN  SPAIN.  205 

made  our  way  up  a  stone  staircase  to  the  hotel  apart- 
ments. No  obsequious  landlord  or  landlady  welcomed 
us,  but  we  at  last  discovered  a  tall,  sour-faced  maid- 
of-all-work,  haughty  and  dirty,  who  condescended  to 
show  us  a  couple  of  elean  but  utterly  bare  little  rooms, 
and  undertook  to  get  us  something  to  eat.  We  felt 
humbly  obliged.  The  stranger  in  Spain,  at  most  inns 
and  elsewhere,  is  treated  as  if  the  most  acceptable 
thing  he  could  do  would  be  to  take  himself  speedily 
out  of  the  country.  Our  apartments  were  furnished 
with  Spartan  simplicity ;  the  guest  is  allowed  a  wash- 
bowl, but  no  pitcher,  and  the  water  given  him  in  the 
bowl  is  supposed  to  be  quite  enough  for  his  needs ; 
but  the  bed,  though  the  mattress  is  made  of  uncom- 
fortable lumps  of  wool,  is  scrupulously  clean.  Our  re- 
past was  all  that  we  could  expect.  The  person  who  is 
fond  of  tasteless  beans  will  find  Spain  a  paradise. 
In  this  land  of  olives,  those  served  on  the  table  are 
bitter  and  disagreeable,  and  the  oil,  in  which  every- 
thing is  cooked,  is  uniformly  rancid.  But  it  should 
be  confessed  that  the  oil  is  better  than  the  butter,  when 
the  latter  luxury  is  attainable.  Something  seems  to 
be  the  matter  with  the  cows.  I  do  not  wonder  that 
the  Spaniards  are  at  table  a  temperate  and  abstemious 
race.  It  is  no  merit  to  be  abstemious,  with  such  food 
and  cooking.  The  wine  at  Arcos,  however,  was  a  sort 
of  Manzanilla,  that  made  us  regard  any  food  with  fa- 
vor. It  was  a  medicinal  draught,  with  a  very  strong 
flavor  of  camomile  ;  a  very  useful  sort,  I  believe,  in  the 
manipulation  of  the  market  sherry,  and  exceedingly 


206     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

wholesome.  So  long  as  a  man  can  drink  this  wine,  he 
will  not  die.  I  should  recommend  the  total  abstinence 
society  to  introduce  it  into  our  country. 

Cheered  by  our  repast,  we  walked  out  to  see  the 
town.  The  moon  was  at  the  full ;  the  night  was  lovely. 
On  such  a  night  a  whitewashed  town  shines  with  daz- 
zling splendor,  and  Arcos  is  picturesque  even  in  day- 
light, especially  in  its  situation.  It  lies  on  lofty  hills 
above  the  river  Guadalete,  and  in  old  times,  befoi-e  the 
final  conquest,  wa,s  a  famous  fortress.  The  horses  bred 
in  the  plain  below,  and  their  fearless  riders,  gallop 
along  in  the  spirited  ballads  of  the  time.  It  is  called 
Arcos  de  la  Frontera,  because  of  its  frontier  position 
after  it  was  taken  from  the  Moors.  During  the  wars 
of  Granada  it  was  in  the  possession  of  that  gallant 
soldier,  Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  Marquis  of  Cadiz, 
whose  wife,  the  high-spirited  marchioness,  was  once 
beleaguered  there  by  the  Moors,  when  the  most  immense 
of  grandees,  Don  Juan  de  Guzman,  the  Duke  of  Me- 
dina Sidonia,  came  to  her  rescue,  and  saved  Arcos  to 
the  Christians,  —  a  most  gallant  and  Christian  act  on 
the  part  of  the  duke,  for  he  and  the  marquis  were  he- 
reditary enemies.  We  could  make  out  by  moonlight 
the  convent  and  the  tower  that  crown  the  two  hills  of 
the  town,  and  from  the  esplanade  in  front  of  the  Gothic 
cathedral  we  enjoyed  a  broad  view  over  the  plain  of 
the  Guadalete.  The  town  must  have  been,  in  the  old 
days,  almost  impregnable  in  its  situation.  We  could 
fancy  the  fair  marchioness  of  Cadiz  on  such  a  night, 
centuries  ago,  looking  down  from  her  watch-tower  upon 


A   RIDE  IN  SPAIN.  207 

tlie  Moorish  camp,  and  expecting-  the   rescue  at  the 
hands  of  Medina  Sidonia. 

The  pensive  night  shoukl  have  brought  out  the  ro- 
mance of  Arcos,  but,  save  the  tinkling  af  a  guitar  here 
and  there  indoors,  there  was  little  sign  of  what  is  sup- 
posed to  be  the  universal  occupation  of  Spain.  I  fear 
that  the  lovers  do  not  go  about  much  at  night-time 
with  their  guitars.  Lovers  we  saw,  at  least  youths  in 
the  attitude  of  lovers  ;  but  they  trusted  to  their  own 
natural  powers  of  persuasion.  The  attitude  of  a  lover 
in  Spain  is  to  stand  motionless,  hour  after  hour,  at  a 
heavily  grated  window.  We  saw  one  slim  gallant  in 
the  position,  when  we  set  out  on  our  walk,  and  an  hour 
after  he  maintained  the  same  impassioned,  patient  em- 
brace of  the  iron  grating.  It  woidd  seem  to  be  a  safe 
sort  of  courtship,  and  as  intoxicating  as  talking  with 
a  nun  through  the  grille  of  her  cell. 

We  had  bargained  the  night  before  for  a  muleteer, 
two  mules,  and  a  horse  for  the  baggage,  and  the  sour- 
faced  maid  roused  us  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  muleteer  had  the  profitable 
end  of  the  bargain,  for  the  traveler  has  to  pay  for  the 
privilege  of  associating  with  the  proud  and  haughty 
Spaniard,  — and  all  Spaniards  are  proud  and  haughty. 
I  ought  to  except  our  friendly  driver  of  the  diligence, 
who  seemed  to  feel  a  responsibility  for  our  getting  on 
safely.  He  came  to  our  room  before  we  went  to  bed, 
and  shook  hands  with  us,  and  patted  us  on  the  shoul- 
der with  something  like  affection,  which  was  not  all 
the  offsprhig  of  the  piece  of  silver  we  had  given  him. 


208     NOTES   OF  A    ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

His  good-liuinored  face  exj)ressed  the  most  cordial  in- 
terest ill  a  fortunate  journey  for  us.  We  could  not  ex- 
change an  intelligible  word,  for  the  few  pure  Castilian 
words  we  had  picked  up  were  not  current  with  him  ; 
but  I  doubt  if  our  mutual  sympathy  would  not  have 
been  marred  and  less  perfect  if  we  could  have  talked 
with  him. 

To  mount  we  came  down  into  the  stable,  the  per- 
fume of  which  is  "  convenient "  to  all  parts  of  the 
house,  and  found  our  cavalcade  ready.  Our  mules  were 
stout,  lazy-going  animals  with  comfortable  saddles. 
The  sun  was  scarcely  free  of  the  horizon  when  we  de- 
scended the  stony  streets  into  the  ravine  between  the 
two  hills  of  the  town.  Early  as  it  was,  the  morning 
market  was  already  an  active  scene,  bright  with  piles 
of  oranges  and  heads  of  fresh  green  lettuce.  All  oper- 
ations were  suspended  to  see  us  pass  down  the  valley, 
and  our  exit  was  hailed  with  mingled  cries  of  admira- 
tion and  derision. 

The  morning  was  lovely,  the  grass  and  foliage  spark- 
led with  dew,  birds  sang  jubilantly  in  the  hedges,  and 
we  set  out  with  an  exhilarated  feeling  of  adventure  and 
discovery.  As  we  descended  into  and  crossed  the  rich 
plain,  and  the  river  Giiadalete,  the  town  rose  behind 
us  in  most  picturesque  magnificence  on  its  hills,  with 
its  white  houses  conspicuous  in  the  sun,  grouped  about 
the  sheltering  cathedral,  and  presided  over  by  the  an- 
cient tower.  Paths  led  in  all  directions  through  the 
vast  plantation  of  olives.  Most  of  the  trees  were  very 
old,  —  the  olive  does  not  reach  its  best  bearing  till  it  is 


A    RIDE  IN  SPAIN,  209 

past  thirty  years,  —  gnarled  and  twisted,  and  many  o£ 
them  were  mere  skeletons  of  bark  and  decayed  wood, 
not  simply  hollow,  but  showing  the  daylight  through 
them,  so  that  it  was  a  marvel  that  they  could  stand. 
Yet  they  not  only  stood,  —  withered,  tough,  and  ugly 
as  the  Spanish  beggars,  —  but  supported  vigorous  green 
branches.  The  trees  were  now  in  full  blossom,  and 
made  a  very  pleasing  show.  Across  this  sweet  valley 
of  bloom  and  color  and  promise,  the  tortula  (turtle- 
doves) were  calling  to  each  other  in  the  accents  of  love 
and  spring,  and  all  the  plain  was  vocal  with  the  notes 
of  the  cuckoo.  It  was  now  the  2d  of  May.  I  do  not 
know  the  habits  of  the  bird  in  Spain,  but  I  was  re- 
minded of  the  old  English  rhyme :  — 

In  April, 
Come  he  will ; 
111  May, 
Sing  all  day; 
In  June, 

Change  his  time; 
In  July, 
Away  he  fly; 
In  August, 
Go  he  must. 

The  country  people  whom  we  met  urging  their  don- 
keys towards  town  saluted  us  gravely  and  witl\out 
curiosity.  "  The  salutation,"  said  my  companion, 
"  reminds  me  of  the  saying  of  a  —  a  —  What  was  it 
he  said,  and  where  did  he  say  it  ?  "  It  reminded  me 
of  the  same  thing.  All  the  landscape  and  the  scene 
seemed  the  simulacrum  of  an  old  romance,  the  echo  of 
an  early  dream. 


210     NOTES    OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

As  we  mounted  out  of  the  plain,  the  country  became 
still  lovelier:  it  was  still  covered  with  olives;  great 
wheat  fields  were  brilliantly  sown  with  scarlet  poppies  ; 
the  cactus  hedges  were  in  full  blossom,  of  red  and  yel- 
low ;  and  the  lustrous  dark  green  aloes  sent  up  splen- 
did central  spikes,  twelve  feet  high. 

Crossing  a  stony  ridge,  we  entered  extensive  groves 
of  cork-trees,  large  misshapen  boles,  often  larger  where 
the  branches  diverge  than  near  the  roots;  bulging, 
distorted  trunks,  looking  like  a  hospital  of  invalid 
trees.  The  donkeys  we  have  met  were  laden  with  cork 
bark,  and  most  of  the  trees  had  been  stripped,  some 
recently.  The  inner,  remaining  bark  of  these  torn 
and  abused  veterans  had  a  dull  red  color,  that  con- 
trasted finely  with  the  dark  green  of  the  branches. 
All  the  morning  the  moimtain  range  we  had  marked 
at  Jerez  was  in  sight,  and  just  ahead  of  us,  and  above 
all,  hovered  the  rock  dome,  the  purple  height  of  St. 
Cristoval.  After  hoiu'S  of  travel  towards  it,  it  seemed 
just  as  distant  as  when  we  started. 

Dwellings  were  scarce  on  the  way:  only  here  and 
there  a  white  farm-house  embowered  in  a  plantation 
of  trees.  Usually,  the  houses  had  one  door  and  no 
windows,  at  most  a  square  opening  to  admit  the  a-ir ; 
and  the  centre  room  of  the  dwelling,  to  which  the  door 
gave  access,  was  a  mule  stable.  And  it  is  only  right 
that  the  donkey,  who  abounds  in  this  region,  should 
have  the  best  place,  for  all  the  carriage  and  transport 
devolve  on  him.  Herds  of  fine  cattle  were  frequent, 
and  springs  and  streams  of  clear  water  were  abundant. 


A  RIDE  IN  SPAIN-.  211 

We  passed  one  small  salt-work,  with  a  few  vats. 
During  the  clay  we  had  been  joined  by  several  horse- 
men, who  jogged  on  with  us  for  some  hours,  and  at 
last  turned  southward  among  the  mountains,  at  a  clear 
spring,  with  a  large  stone  reservoir  of  solid  construc- 
tion. Before  noon  we  were  near  El  Bosco,  or  El 
Bosque,  the  village  where  we  were  to  lunch,  and  its 
neighborhood  was  marked,  as  is  the  approach  to  all 
large  places  of  Eastern  origin,  by  worse  roads,  walls, 
cactus  hedges,  and  a  general  Oriental  appearance. 
But  El  Bosco  is  not  Oriental.  It  is  simply  a  clean, 
rudely-paved  town  of  low  whitewashed  houses,  without 
an  architectural  or  other  object  of  interest.  We 
strolled  into  the  parish  church  while  our  lunch  was 
preparing,  and  found  a  bare  interior,  a  few  rubbishy 
images  and  pictures,  and  a  discouraged  priest,  who 
said  naively  that  the  people  were  so  poor  that  it  was 
impossible  to  make  the  church  like  the  cathedral  at 
Seville. 

At  the  clean  posada,  over  the  stable,  we  were  served 
with  a  very  good  lunch,  by  a  big,  motherly,  Connecti- 
cut sort  of  woman,  who  took  such  an  interest  in  us 
that  she  showed  us  her  large  beds,  and  urged  us  to 
stay  all  night.  We  had  bread,  and  eggs,  and  fried 
meat,  and  milk,  and  wine,  and  coffee,  —  everything 
the  land  afforded.  The  bread,  after  the  fashion  of 
this  region,  is  made  in  small,  white,  and  hard  loaves, 
with  twisted  handles  to  carry  them  by,  and  on  each 
loaf  is  plainly  stamped  its  weight.  If  it  is  sold  by 
weight,  it  must  be  expensive.     The  wine  was  a  Man- 


212     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

zaiiilla  of  an  excellent  quality,  not  nearly  so  strong  of 
camomile  as  the  Arcos  sort.  The  motherly  old  Con- 
necticut woman  charged  us  thirty  reals  for  our  enter- 
tainment, which  being  translated  is  the  large  sum  of 
a  dollar  and  a  half.  That  came  of  our  recldess 
draught  on  the  resources  of  the  country.  A  Spaniard 
would  have  lunched  for  about  two  reals,  and  taken  it 
out  in  bread  and  green  beans. 

An  hour  after  leaving  El  Bosco,  we  came  in  sight 
of  the  secluded  mountain  town,  Puerto  Santa  Maria. 
The  road  was  more  rugged  and  stony,  and  the  country 
grew  wilder  at  every  step.  We  were,  in  fact,  entering 
the  fastnesses  of  the  Serrania  de  Roncla,  that  jumble 
of  mountains  and  hiding-places  and  obscure  passes, 
renowned  in  the  wars  of  the  Conquest  for  border 
forays,  retreats,  and  pursuits,  and  desperate  hand-to- 
hand  encounters  of  the  Moorish  and  Christian  chiv- 
alry, and  in  later  days  as  the  resort  of  the  bandit  and 
the  contrabandista.  On  the  water-course  in  the  deep 
narrow  sforoe  at  our  left  were  two  or  three  small  cloth 
factories,  and  long  strips  of  the  coarse  brown  fabric 
were  spread  on  the  rocks  to  dry. 

Puerto  Santa  Maria  is  a  white  town  of  perhaj)S  two 
or  three  thousand  inhabitants,  built  on  a  ledge  at  the 
foot  of  Saint  Cristoval.  The  centre  of  the  town  was  a 
large  open  field  of  fruit  trees  and  pasture,  the  houses 
ranged  around  it  in  an  elliptical  form.  Perhaps  this 
place  was  a  survival  of  old  communal  times.  The 
town  was  evidently  poor  enough,  —  poorer  than  EI 
Bosco.     I  did  not  see  a  pane  of  window  glass  in  the 


A  RIDE  IN  SPAIN.  213 

whole  place.     Glass  is  a  scarce  luxury  in  all  this  re- 


gion. 


We  mounted  through  the  town,  and  rose  rapidly- 
round  the  mountain  side,  ascending  by  an  exceedingly 
steep  and  rough  highway,  which  had  once  been  well 
paved  with  large  blocks  of  stone,  laid  sometimes,  so 
shai'p  was  the  ascent,  in  steps.  I  do  not  know  whether 
this  solid  path  for  horses  was  the  work  of  Moors,  or  of 
Spaniards  after  the  Conquest,  but  it  is  utterly  neg- 
lected now.  We  had  ascended  into  wide-spreading 
forests  of  stately  oaks  and  ilexes,  with  an  undergrowth 
of  shrubs  and  gay  wild-flowers.  Occasionally  a  level 
bit  of  road  gave  us  charming  glimpses  of  open  forest 
glades.  On  one  side  we  looked  down  into  the  deepen- 
ing gorge  and  over  a  jumble  of  mountains,  and  on 
the  other  up  to  the  gray  buttresses  and  walls  of  Saint 
Cristoval.  We  were  on  historic  ground,  which  had 
been  the  scene  and  witness  of  one  of  the  ijjost  stirring 
and  bloody  episodes  of  the  wars  of  the  Conquest. 

It  was  in  the  year  of  grace  1483,  after  the  over- 
whelming disaster  to  the  Spanish  knights  in  the  moun- 
tains of  Malaga,  that  Muley  Abul  Hassan,  Kiug  of 
Granada,  who  had  regained  the  city,  and  denounced 
his  son,  Boabdil  el  Chico,  as  a  renegade,  planned  a 
plundering  raid  that  should  carry  alarm  and  desolation 
into  the  fertile  plains  of  Andalusia.  He  chose  for  its 
head  old  Bexir,  the  gray  and  crafty  alcaide  of  Mal- 
aga. The  rendezvous  of  the  expedition  was  Eonda, 
the  most  pestilent  nest  of  Moslem  depredators.  The 
fierce  inhabitants  of  this  belligerent  city  were  then 


214     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

in  command  of  Hamet  Zeli,  surnamed  El  Zegri,  of 
the  warlike  tribe  of  the  Zagories,  a  proud  and  daring 
warrior,  an  old  campaigner,  who  knew  every  pass 
and  cleft  in  the  Serrania.  His  immediate  attendants 
were  a  legion  of  fierce  African  Moors,  mercenary- 
troops,  of  the  tribe  of  Gomeres.  Trained  to  the  hard- 
ships of  rapid  marches  and  sudden  onsets,  mounted  on 
the  swift  and  strong  horses  bred  in  the  rich  pasturage 
of  the  valley  of  Eonda,  this  cavalry  was  the  terror  of 
Andalusia. 

The  summons  of  Bexir  to  the  foray  were  responded 
to  by  all  the  border  chivalry,  and  soon  a  force  of 
fifteen  hundred  horse  and  four  thousand  foot  assem- 
bled within  the  walls  of  Ronda.  In  secret  the  prep- 
arations were  made;  in  silence,  and  without  tap  of 
drum  or  clash  of  cjonbal,  the  splendid  host  sallied  out 
of  Ronda,  and  entered  one  of  the  savage  defiles  of  the 
Serrania.  Many  of  the  warriors  had  insultingly  ar- 
raj^ed  themselves  in  the  rich  armor  of  the  Christian 
kniohts  slain  in  the  massacre  of  the  mountains  of 
Malaga,  and  some  rode  the  Andalusian  steeds  cap- 
tured in  that  disaster. 

So  craftily  had  Bexir  concerted  his  plans  and  move- 
ments that  he  was  confident  of  surprising  the  Chris- 
tian towns.  But,  unfortunately  for  him,  some  Chris- 
tian scouts,  or  maraviders,  hovering  about  in  hope  of 
picking  up  cattle  or  prisoners  for  the  Christian  mar- 
ket, saw  the  march  of  the  host,  and  speedily  spread 
the  news  in  every  direction.  Among  those  who  were 
warned  was  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  and  Luiz  Fernan- 


A   RIDE  IN  SPAIN.  215 

dez  Puerto  Carrero,  in  command  at  Ecija.  The  re- 
sult is  well  known.  The  Moors  descended,  in  fancied 
security,  into  the  plain  of  Utrera,  and  separated  into 
bands  for  pillage.  The  hastily  collected  army  of 
Christians  took  them  by  surprise  in  the  rear,  on  the 
banks  of  the  river  Lopera,  and  there  occurred,  on  the 
17th  of  September,  1483,  the  famous  battle  of  Lopera, 
in  which  the  Moslem  host  was  cut  to  pieces,  and  pur- 
sued with  slaughter  into  the  recesses  of  the  hills.  A 
large  body  of  them  fled  southward  to  the  Guadalete, 
where  they  were  encountered  and  destroyed  by  the  val- 
iant Ponce  de  Leon,  Marquis  of  Cadiz.  But  few  Moors 
escaped  the  savage  pursuit  and  slaughter.  Great  quan- 
tities of  Christian  armor,  captured  at  the  Malaga  mas- 
sacre, were  retaken,  and  the  marquis  encountered  and 
slew  the  Moor  who  rode  the  horse  that  belonged  to  his 
brother  Beltran,  one  of  the  victims  of  the  mountain 
slaughter. 

Hamet  el  Zegri,  the  alcaide  of  Ronda,  was  raiding 
over  the  plain  of  Utrera  gathering  cattle,  when  he 
heard  the  noise  of  the  fight  on  the  Lopera  and  dashed 
thither  with  his  handful  of  Gomeres.  He  was  too 
late;  his  comrades  were  slain  or  scattered,  and  the 
Christians  held  all  the  passes  of  his  retreat.  There 
was  in  his  little  band,  however,  a  renegade  Christian, 
who  knew  a  circuitous  route  through  the  enemy's  coun- 
try by  which  a  pass  in  the  Serrania  could  be  gained  ; 
and  under  promise  of  a  purse  of  gold  if  he  conducted 
El  Zegri  in  safety,  and  the  threat  of  being  cleaved  to 
his  saddle-bow  if  he  betrayed  him,  the  renegade  guided 


216     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

the  troop  round  about  through  the  plain  to  a  pass  in 
the  hills.  At  midnight  they  dodged  under  the  walls 
of  Arcos,  crossed  the  Guadalete,  and,  by  the  very  way 
that  we  had  been  traveling  all  day,  effected  their  re- 
treat to  the  mountains.  They  followed  this  same  wild 
path  that  we  were  now  leisurely  pursuing.  "  The  day 
dawned,"  says  Irving,  from  whose  brilliant  pages  I 
have  condensed  this  narration,  "  as  they  made  their 
way  up  the  savage  defiles.  Their  comrades  had  been 
hunted  up  these  very  glens  by  the  enemy.  Every  now 
and  then  they  came  to  where  there  had  been  a  partial 
fight,  or  a  slaughter  of  the  fugitives,  and  the  rocks  were 
red  with  blood,  and  strewed  with  mangled  bodies.  The 
alcaide  of  Ronda  was  almost  frantic  with  rage,  at  see- 
ing many  of  his  bravest  warriors  lying  stiff  and  stark, 
a  prey  to  the  hawks  and  vultures  of  the  mountains. 
Now  and  then  some  wretched  Moor  would  crawl  out 
of  a  cave  or  glen,  whither  he  had  fled  for  refuge ;  for 
in  the  retreat  many  of  the  horsemen  had  abandoned 
their  steeds,  thrown  away  their  armor,  and  clambered 
up  the  cliffs,  where  they  could  not  be  pursued  by  the 
Christian  cavalry." 

As  we  toiled,  still  upward,  around  the  mountain  side 
the  view  opened,  the  ravine  beneath  broadened  into  a 
valley,  with  green  fields  and  occasionally  a  house  or 
two,  and  from  the  cultivated  spots  in  the  far  deep, 
sounds  of  laughter  and  of  labor  came  to  us.  Flocks/ 
of  sheep  and  goats  were  picking  about  in  the  scant, 
green  patches  on  the  slope  where  we  rode,  tended  by 
vigilant  boys.     One  of  the  bright-eyed  urchins,  who 


A  RIDE  IN  SPAIN.  217 

might  become  a  Pizarro,  if  Spain  now  had  any  occa- 
sion for  heroes,  had  a  hot  conflict  with  the  little  fox- 
like dog  which  accompanied  us.  I  suspect  the  dog 
had  been  insulting  the  sheep,  and  the  boy  pursued  the 
cur,  breathing  forth  maledictions  and  hurling  stones, 
up  and  do^vn  the  rocks,  and  back  and  forth,  for  fifteen 
minutes.  No  steeps  or  sharj)  stones  daunted  the  boy, 
who  had  stern  death  in  his  eye.  The  dog  escaped,  at 
last,  with  a  wound  in  his  breast,  but  my  sympathies 
were  altogether  with  the  young  shepherd.  A  good 
David  has  no  doubt  gone  to  waste  in  him.  He  had 
the  gift  of  song,  the  wailing  monotonous  strain  of  the 
Orient.  All  day  long  the  singing  of  men  at  the  plow, 
or  women  in  their  houses,  or  children  at  play,  was  of 
the  purely  African  sort. 

The  prospect  opened  more  grandly  as  we  rose.  At 
one  time  we  looked,  through  the  openings  in  the 
mountains,  westward  beyond  Jerez,  and  southward  to 
the  region  of  Gibraltar.  The  great  valley,  whose  side 
we  were  ascending,  was  closed  by  a  sharp  divide  that 
ran  from  St.  Cristoval  to  the  jagged  range  opposite  ; 
it  was  the  height  of  the  pass,  and  we  climbed  it  with 
intense  curiosity  to  see  what  it  would  reveal.  Our 
anticipations  were  exceeded.  We  were  by  the  ba- 
rometer something  like  thirty-one  hundred  feet  higher 
than  Arcos,  but  the  view  was  one  belonoins:  to  a  greater 
altitude,  and  such  as  one  chances  to  see  not  often  in 
life. 

To  the  westward,  the  eye  ranged  over  mountains  to 
the  sea  beyond  Cadiz,  fidly  sixty  miles  away.     At  an- 


218     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

other  time  of  day  the  water  would  not  have  been  visi- 
ble, but  the  sun  struck  it  so  that  a  long  expanse  o£  the 
Atlantic  shone  along  the  horizon  with  the  brightness 
of  silver.  Before  us,  to  the  eastward,  and  precipi- 
tously below  us,  the  prospect  was  more  varied  and 
striking.  We  looked  into  a  great  valley,  but  a  valley 
diversified  with  sharp  peaks  of  rock,  and  set  about 
with  high-running  mountain  ranges.  In  the  middle 
foreground  was  a  shattered  mountain  of  stone ;  below 
it,  on  either  hand,  the  green  of  trees  and  meadows  ; 
and  beyond  all,  on  a  mountain  plateau,  what  seemed 
to  be  the  level  walls  and  shining  houses  of  a  large 
city.  We  could  scarcely  believe  that  it  was  not,  but 
the  muleteer  insisted  that  it  was  only  a  peculiar  for- 
mation of  rock,  and  the  shifting  light  soon  convinced 
us.  Upon  each  side  of  this  gorge  before  us,  descend- 
ing as  if  to  a  focus,  swept  the  jagged  rocks  of  the 
boundary  ledges,  broken  into  towers  and  bastions  and 
pinnacles.  It  was  a  scene  of  mingled  beauty  and  sub- 
limity. As  we  stood  there,  a  hawk  sailed  about,  close 
to  our  heads. 

As  we  descended  several  hundred  feet  by  a  treach- 
erous path  of  loose  stones,  and  turned  the  corner  of  a 
ledge,  a  stiU  more  wonderful  sight  greeted  us.  It  was 
the  city  of  Grazelema,  directly  beneath  us ;  a  town  of 
ten  thousand  people,  with  compact  white  houses,  tiled 
roofs  of  reddish-brown,  irregular  streets,  two  or  three 
church  spires,  and  a  cathedral  mass,  lying  in  a  stone 
bowl  of  the  gray  mountain,  which  towered  behind  it, 
and  held  the  city  from  the  valley  below  as  if  in  a  dish. 


A   RIDE  JX  SPAIN.  219 

At  the  distance  we  stood  above  it,  the  green  fields  be- 
low seemed  close  to  the  city ;  but  we  found  when  we 
descended,  next  morning,  that  it  is  really  high  up 
above  the  valley.  Grazelema  was  a  surprise  to  us, 
and  we  declared  that  it  alone  was  worth  two  days  of 
mule-back  to  see.  My  companion,  who  had  been  a 
wide  traveler  in  the  known  places  of  Euroj)e,  Asia, 
and  Africa,  but  believed  that  he  never  before  had 
been  off  the  lines  laid  down  by  the  ubiquitous  Murray, 
w^as  delighted  to  visit  a  place  not  mentioned  in  the 
guide-book. 

The  sun  was  still  above  the  horizon  when  we  rode 
down,  down,  through  the  clean  and  roughly  jDaved 
streets  of  the  city,  and  ran  the  gauntlet  of  stares  and 
comments  of  a  population  unaccustomed  to  the  sight 
of  foreigners.  But  we  had  long  ago  ceased  to  expect 
civility  in  the  demeanor  of  Spaniards  toward  stran- 
gers, and  certainly  did  not  expect  it  in  a  place  so  re- 
mote as  Grazelema,  where  curiosity  is  added  to  dislike. 
The  town  is  clean  and  apparently  tlu-iving,  though 
what  it  thrives  on,  there  among  the  rocks,  and  with  no 
communication  with  the  world  except  by  mule  paths, 
we  could  not  imagine.  Many  of  the  houses  had  j^retty 
balconies,  gay  with  flowers ;  glass  in  the  windows  was 
more  common  than  in  other  mountain  towns  we  had 
passed  ;  and  here  and  there  an  open  door  gave  view  of 
a  neat  patio. 

The  national  costume  has  pretty  much  vanished 
from  Spain,  but  we  saw  some  relics  of  it  here  in  the 
dress  of  the  men,  especially  the  young  bucks  and  majos, 


220     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

some  of  whom  still  affect  the  dress  now  usually  seen 
only  on  tlie  lower  class.  Its  peculiarity  is  a  short, 
plain  jacket,  a  broad,  red  sash  about  the  waist,  and  a 
round  black  felt  hat,  with  a  broad  brim  turned  up 
about  the  low  crown,  like  a  saucer  with  a  cup  turned 
over  in  it. 

The  women,  who  were  sitting  in  the  door-ways,  or 
taking  the  air  in  the  streets,  with  the  lace  mantilla 
over  the  head  and  the  incessant  fan  in  hand,  were 
the  most  comely  we  had  seen.  With  well-made  and 
elastic  figures,  regular  and  finely  formed  features,  and 
large  dark  eyes,  they  have  not  the  pasty  skin  of  the 
Andalusian  beauties ;  and  their  complexion  is  not  a 
matter  of  powder  and  paint,  but  clear  and  light  in 
hue,  and  only  slightly  olive,  with  the  red  blood  of  vir- 
tuous health  shining  through.  I  am  delighted  to  pay 
these  prej)ossessing  women  this  compliment,  in  return 
for  their  attention  to  our  unprepossessing  cavalcade. 

Our  muleteer  took  us  to  the  best  posada  in  the  city. 
From  the  neat  and  thriving  appearance  of  the  place 
we  were  led  to  expect  excellent  accommodations ;  much 
better,  said  our  muleteer,  than  at  El  Bosco.  I  do  not 
know  what  a  Spaniard's  notion  of  good  quarters  is, 
but  this  posada  was  not  built  for  anything  above  the 
refinement  and  aspirations  of  a  mule.  We  entered 
the  usual  stable,  a  place  that  would  delight  a  farmer 
in  search  of  fertilizers,  and  climbed  up  the  broken 
stone  stairs,  through  the  reek,  to  the  apartments  above. 
After  some  search,  we  roused  an  ancient  crone,  who 
hospitably  offered  us  the  best  the  house  afforded.    The 


A  RIDE  IN  SPAIN.  221 

room  that  I  obtained  was  a  small  chamber  with  a  stone 
floor,  and  it  did  not  take  me  long  to  make  an  inven- 
tory of  the  furniture.  There  was  a  cot  bedstead  with 
horse-blankets,  but  clean  sheets,  a  tripod  with  a  wash- 
bowl, and  a  chair.  I  forget :  the  room  had  a  good 
coat  of  whitewash.  The  window  was  a  small  opening, 
without  glass,  and  an  iron  grating  outside  ;  when  I  shut 
the  wooden  blind,  the  only  method  of  closing  the  win- 
dow, the  room  was  totally  dark. 

When,  after  we  were  installed,  we  apjDroached  the 
kind  old  woman  on  the  subject  of  something  to  eat, 
she  seemed  a  little  surprised  that  anything  of  that  sort 
should  be  expected  of  an  inn.  There  was  no  milk  to 
be  had  at  this  time  of  night,  nor  In  the  morning :  milk 
was  only  to  be  procured  about  noon.  She  could  send 
out  and  buy  some  meat.  If  it  was  absolutely  necessary, 
but  it  was  late.  As  to  bread,  the  old  entertainer's 
face  brightened  up  at  once ;  bread,  certainly ;  wine, 
yes  ;  perhaps  eggs ;  may  be  cheese.  We  were  re- 
minded of  a  dialogue,  which  Gautler  quotes,  in  a 
Spanish  inn :  — 

Traveler  :  "  I  should  like  to  take  something." 

Landlord :  "  Take  a  chair." 

Traveler :  "  I  should  like  something  more  nourish- 


ing 


5? 


Landlord  :  "  What  have  you  brought  with  you  ?  " 
Traveler  :  "  Nothing." 

Landlord :  "  Well,  the  baker  Is  down  the  street, 
there,  and  the  butcher  Is  just  round  the  corner." 

While  our  Drovident  hostess  was  looking  for  a  hen's 


222     NOTES   OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

nest,  we  sallied  out  to  view  the  town.  It  is  as  neat  as 
whitewash  can  make  it,  has  several  large  churches,  a 
spacious  public  square,  and  better  houses  than  one 
woidd  expect  to  see  here.  The  plaza  was  a  genuine 
surprise  for  its  size,  smart  appearance,  and  animation. 
The  oblong  centre,  elevated  slightly,  and  surrounded 
by  a  low  parapet,  is  the  place  of  promenade  and  of 
shows.  At  one  end  is  a  lofty  church,  and  at  the  other 
a  prosperous  jail.  This  institution  is  contrived  for  the 
pleasure  as  well  as  the  detention  of  criminals;  the 
barred  windows  open  ujjon  the  square,  and  the  prison- 
ers on  the  ground-floor  were  chatting  with  their  friends. 
Our  advent  was  received  with  marked  attentions.  The 
young  majos,  or  loafers,  decorated  with  the  black  sau- 
cer hat  and  red  waist-scarf,  who  were  lounging  about 
the  prison  end  of  the  square,  or  leaning  against  the 
door-posts,  bestowed  upon  us  scowling  and  suspicious 
glances  ;  people  crowded  to  the  doors,  to  stare  at  us  ; 
women,  seated  before  their  houses,  or  promenading  in 
groups  of  three  or  four,  nudged  each  other  and 
laughed  ;  and  a  crowd  of  unmannerly  boys  followed  us 
about,  and  inspected  us  with  undisguised  interest.  As 
we  crossed  the  plaza  towards  the  church,  we  were 
struck  by  a  few  pebbles ;  but  they  were  small  pebbles, 
and  the  boys  ran  to  a  safe  distance  when  we  turned 
around.  Perhaps  they  were  only  trying  to  attract  our 
attention,  and  see  what  a  new  kind  of  human  being 
would  do  when  excited.  Boys  are  much  the  same  the 
world  over,  and  we  bore  them  no  malice ;  indeed,  we 
could  not  take  in  ill  j^art  a  performance  that  seemed 


A  RIDE  IN  SPAIN.  223 

to  entertain  their  haughty  and  courteous  elders.  Be- 
sides, we  were  by  this  time  so  accustomed  to  Spanish 
civility  that  we  did  not  mind  it.  I  have  no  doubt  that 
if  we  had  been  familiar  with  the  language,  and  dressed 
so  as  to  pass  for  Spaniards,  we  should  have  been 
spared  these  delicate  attentions.  The  people  of  a  shop 
into  which  we  stepped  were  certainly  polite.  It  was 
the  only  shop  in  which  we  saw  anything  characteristic 
of  the  country.  The  articles  for  sale  were  blinders  of 
mule  bridles,  and  saddle  cloths  embroidered  in  worsted 
of  vivid  colors  and  staring  patterns.  The  Spaniards 
are  fond  of  this  sort  of  decoration. 

But  the  glory  of  this  bright  plaza  is  its  situation, 
Above  it,  and  almost  overhanging  it,  is  a  mass  of  gray 
rock,  nearly  perpendicidar,  and  rising,  T  should  think, 
a  thousand  feet.  Its  color  is  superb  ;  I  have  seen  no- 
where else  such  a  mass  of  solid  mountain  of  anything 
like  this  lovely  gray  color.  It  is  gray,  and  yet  upon 
its  surface,  in  patches,  is  a  light  green  lichen  that 
serves  to  bring  out  the  gray.  The  terrace  above  the 
town,  to  the  right,  is  strewn  with  enormous  bowlders. 
The  mountain  seems  to  threaten  to  crush  the  city, 
which  it  holds  in  one  of  its  rocky  bowls.  Half-way 
up  the  side  of  the  gray  precipice  is  a  large  white 
church ;  a  pilgrimage  chapel,  I  suppose.  I  could  see 
no  path  leading  to  it  along  the  cliff,  nor  could  I  dis- 
cern how  it  held  itself  there  against  the  mass  of  rock, 
on  which  it  seemed  to  hang  like  a  bird-cage  on  the 
wall  of  a  house.  But  of  course  it  had  a  sufficiently 
broad  ledge  for  a  resting  place. 


224     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

It  rained  in  the  niglit,  and  it  was  still  drizzling 
when  our  muleteer  called  us  at  five  in  the  morning ; 
but  a  day  in  this  dark  and  fooclless  posada  was  not  to 
be  thought  of.  The  landlady  made  us  some  beverage 
which  in  Spain,  as  well  as  in  France,  is  called  coffee, 
—  it  was  six  hours  too  early  for  milk,  —  into  which 
we  dipped  our  hard  bread  ;  and  thus  refreshed,  after 
pajang  our  hostess  a  dollar  and  forty  cents  for  the 
pleasure  of  her  society  and  our  stable  accommodations, 
we  mounted,  and  rode  down  the  slippery  streets  into 
the  valley.  We '  then  saw  in  what  a  mere  eagle's 
perch  the  city  lay.  The  clouds  soon  broke  away, 
hanging  in  heavy  masses  about  the  mountain  peaks, 
and  disclosing  to  us  superb  views,  as  we  ascended  the 
opposite  hill.  The  road  was  bad,  but  the  views  and 
the  coimtry  made  amends.  Our  way  all  the  morning 
lay  tlu?ough  woods,  openly  planted,  —  great  forests  of 
oak,  ilex,  and  cork.  The  mountain  sides  were  gay 
with  cistus,  a  shrub  not  unlike  the  oleander  in  appear- 
ance, with  large  white  single  blossoms  having  yellow 
stamens,  —  a  show  as  beautiful  as  a  laurel  mountain 
side  in  New  England  in  spring.  Mingled  wdth  it  were 
patches  of  the  yellow  gorse  and  broom,  the  poet's  as- 
phodel, and  a  hundred  wild  flowers  besides.  After  a 
long  climb,  we  emerged  upon  a  large  breezy  plateau, 
like  an  English  park,  and,  crossing  this,  descended  by 
a  steep  path  into  a  cultivated  valley,  and  struck  a  well- 
graded  highway  leading  into  the  basin  of  Ronda. 

The  muleteers  we  met  on  the  way,  and  all  the  men 
and  women  whom  we  met  during  our  ride,  returned 


A  RIDE  IN  SPAIN.  225 

our  salutation  with  the  uniform  phrase,  "  Va  usted 
con  Dios."  Literally  it  is,  "  Go  you  with  God,"  and 
I  fancied  it  had  a  slightly  different  signification  from 
"  God  go  with  you,"  or  our  "  God  be  with  you "  — 
good-by.  For  does  it  not  imply  that  it  will  be  well 
with  you  if  you  go  with  God,  and  not  otherwise,  mak- 
ing your  welfare  depend  upon  your  free  choice  ? 

The  great  highway  was  not  yet  finished,  though 
parts  of  it  were  old,  as  if  it  had  been  a  long  time 
building,  and  was  not  used  except  for  riding.  .  I  sup- 
pose the  road  is  really  in  advance  of  the  demands  of 
the  people,  who  seem  not  yet  to  have  come  to  the 
wheel  age ;  they  are  still  in  the  horse  age.  We  saw 
no  wheeled  vehicles  in  this  region  till  we  left  Ronda, 
and  then  no  private  carriages ;  nothing  but  the  dili- 
gence and  big  goods  -  wagons.  Yet  this  highway  is 
splendidly  built,  and  graded  as  if  for  rails.  It  winds 
down  through  a  lovely  defile,  wooded  and  watered  by 
a  clear  stream.  We  jogged  easily  down  for  miles, 
imtil  it  emerged  and  swept  down  the  mountain  side  in 
long  curves,  opening  to  us  the  valley,  the  rocky  hill  in 
the  centre  of  the  valley  on  which  Eonda  stands,  and 
the  mountains  which  hem  it  in  on  every  side. 

It  was  doubtless  up  this  mountain  defile  that  the 
shining  and  confident  troops  of  the  wary  Bexir  and 
the  fierce  Hamet  el  Zegri  took  their  way  that  Septem- 
ber morning,  unconscious  of  the  bloody  reception  that 
awaited  them  on  the  banks  of  the  Lopera.  It  was 
from  the  cliffs  yonder  that  the  marauding  scouts 
looked  down  and  beheld  the  Moslem  army,  bearing 


226     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

the  standards  of  the  various  towns  and  the  pennons  of 
the  well-known  commanders,  clad  in  velvet  and  steel, 
and  flaunting  their  caparisoned  steeds  and  costly 
armor,  stealing  up  this  rocky  way,  without  sound  of 
drum  or  trumpet,  or  clash  of  cymbal.  Already  the 
fierce  Gomeres  of  Ronda,  curbing  their  prancing 
steeds,  anticipated  the  descent  into  the  rich  plains  of 
Andalusia,  the  scene  of  so  many  productive  forays. 
Vanished  is  all  this  pageantry.  Never  more  mil  these 
defiles  brighten  with  a  like  warlike  array.  As  we 
move  along  down  the  easy  grade,  the  only  cavalcade 
we  meet  is  one  of  laden  donkeys,  and  instead  of  a 
war-cry  we  hear  only,  Va  usted  con  Dios. 

The  situation  of  Ronda  is  vaimted  as  one  of  the 
most  picturesque  in  Europe.  It  is  on  the  top  of  a 
long,  sharp-backed  mountain,  cut  off  from  the  moun- 
tains around  it  by  a  deep  valley.  The  prospect  from 
it  is  extensive  and  fine,  but  its  boldness  seemed  a 
trifle  tame  after  the  region  we  had  passed.  The  pe- 
culiarity of  the  town  is  tliis :  that  the  old  Moorish 
quarter  occupies  the  south  end  of  the  hill,  and  is  cut 
off  from  the  modern  town  by  the  Tajo,  a  gigantic  rent 
in  the  rock,  some  two  hundred  feet  wide,  and  three 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  deep.  Across  this  chasm  a 
noble  modern  bridge  has  been  thrown.  The  old  to^^^l 
was  not  only  defended  by  this  chasm,  but  there  was 
no  approach  to  it,  up  the  precipices  which  surround  it, 
except  at  the  south  end  of  the  hill,  which  was  guarded 
by  a  strong  fort.  Before  the  invention  of  artillery  it 
was  of  course  impregnable.     The  portion  of  the  city 


A  RIDE  IN  SPAIN.  227 

built  on  tlie  north  part  of  the  hill  is  higher,  and  com- 
mands the  old  town. 

But  no  part  of  the  town  is  now  old.  It  is  all  thor- 
oughly modern  and  uninteresting,  and  the  place  is 
only  worth  visiting  on  account  of  its  historical  associ- 
ations and  its  picturesque  situation.  There  are  only 
two  objects  that  will  detain  the  sight-seer.  One  is  the 
pretty  Alameda  and  rose  garden  in  the  new  town, 
from  the  parapet  of  which  you  look  sheer  down  the 
precipice  of  rock,  nearly  a  thousand  feet,  into  the 
green  valley,  and  off  upon  the  lofty  mountain  peaks 
and  wild  passes  to  the  west.  It  is  a  favorite  place  of 
promenade  for  the  inhabitants  at  sunset ;  and  although 
the  day  we  were  there  was  showery  and  cold,  a  num- 
ber of  idle  cavaliers  in  long  cloaks  —  which  are  still 
the  country  fashion  in  Spain  —  were  pretending  to 
enjoy  it,  and  several  priests,  in  broad-brimmed  black 
hats,  were  promenading  in  twos  and  thi^ees,  like  de- 
vout ravens.  The  other  sight  is  the  Tajo,  or  chasm. 
Under  the  pavement  of  the  bridge  itself  is  a  city 
prison,  and  by  leaning  over  the  parapet  the  visitor  can 
see  the  grated  \\Tndow  out  of  which  the  prisoners  look 
down,  as  he  does,  into  the  abyss.  The  place  would 
seem  to  be  a  secure  and  cool  summer  residence.  At 
the  bottom  of  the  chasm  flows  a  considerable  stream, 
which  rises  in  the  chasm  itself,  and  is  used  now,  as  it 
was  in  the  time  of  the  Moors,  to  turn  several  little 
mills,  which  nestle  under  the  rocks. 

We  descended  into  the  Tajo,  on  both  sides  of  the 
bridge,  and  slid  about  on  the  slippery  stones  and  amid 


228     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

tlie  city  sewage  with  true  antiquarian  zeal.  We 
looked  at  a  dirty  pool  said  to  have  been  cut  out  of  the 
solid  rock  by  Christian  slaves  in  1342.  Above  it  is  a 
wooden  door,  opening  to  a  staircase  in  the  rock  lead- 
ing up  to  the  house  of  the  Moorish  king,  built  in  1042. 
It  was  by  this  secret  way  that  the  inhabitants  procured 
water  when  they  were  besieged.  I  suppose  that  it  was 
this  source  of  supply  that  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  discov- 
ered and  stopped,  when  he  captured  the  city,  in  1485. 
The  capture  was  a  surprise.  Apprehending  no 
danger  to  his  impregnable  perch,  old  Hamet  el  Zegri, 
since  the  Christians  were  engaged  in  the  siege  of  Mal- 
aga, had  taken  his  Gomeres  for  a  refreshing  turn  in 
Andalusia,  and  was  returning  from  a  satisfactory  raid 
into  the  rich  lands  of  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia. 
As  he  came  with  droves  of  cattle  and  flocks  of  sheep 
through  the  Serrania  and  approached  Ronda,  he  was 
startled  by  the  roar  of  artillery.  Spurring  his  horse 
to  an  eminence  overlooking  the  plain,  he  beheld  the 
Christian  army  encamped  about  the  city,  with  the 
royal  standard  of  King  Ferdinand  displayed,  the  de- 
voted town  enveloped  in  smoke,  and  shaken  by  the 
incessant  discharge  of  the  heavy  guns.  El  Zegri 
smote  his  breast,  and  cried  with  rage,  in  vain ;  in  vain 
he  tried  to  cut  his  way  through  the  beleaguerers  with 
his  fierce  Gomeres  ;  in  vain  he  kindled  watch-fires  and 
summoned  the  mountaineers.  The  camp  could  not  be 
forced,  and  the  siege  went  on,  its  handful  of  warriors 
defending  it  with  the  heroism  of  desperation.  The 
valiant  alcaide  was  impotent   to  aid  them.     "  Every 


A   RIDE  IN  SPAIN.  229 

thunder  of  the  Christian  ordnance,"  writes  Irving, 
"  seemed  to  batter  against  his  heart.  He  saw  tower 
after  tower  tumbling  by  day,  and  various  parts  of  the 
city  blazing  at  night."  "  They  fired  not  merely  stones 
from  their  ordnance,"  says  a  chronicler  of  the  times, 
"  but  likewise  great  balls  of  iron,  cast  in  moulds, 
which  demolished  everything  they  struck.  They  also 
tlu'ew  balls  of  tow,  steeped  in  pitch  and  oil,  and  gun- 
powder, which,  when  once  on  fire,  were  not  to  be  ex- 
tinguished, and  which  set  the  houses  in  flames.  Great 
was  the  horror  of  the  inliabitants :  they  knew  not 
where  to  fly  for  refuge  ;  their  houses  were  in  a  blaze, 
or  shattered  by  the  ordnance ;  the  streets  were  peril- 
ous from  the  falling  ruins  or  bounding  balls,  which 
dashed  to  pieces  everjiihing  they  encountered.  At 
night  the  city  looked  like  a  fiery  furnace  ;  the  cries 
and  the  wailings  of  the  women  between  the  thunders 
of  the  ordnance  reached  even  to  the  Moors  on  the  op- 
posite mountains,  v/ho  answered  them  by  yells  of  fury 
and  despair." 

I  can  believe  all  of  that  except  that  the  women's 
screams  could  be  heard  on  the  distant  mountains. 
However,  Konda  fell,  never  more  to  be  regained  by 
the  Moors,  and  the  chains  of  the  Christian  captives, 
rescued  from  its  dungeons,  were  hung  upon  the  church 
of  San  Juan  de  los  Reyes,  in  Toledo,  where  they  may 
be  seen  to-day.  Eonda  is  reputed  a  salubrious  place, 
and  productive  of  octogenarians.  "  The  ladies,"  says 
the  Guide  Book,  which  is  worthy  to  be  called  a  guide 
to  the  female  beauty  of  Spain,  "  are  as  fresh  and  ruddy 


230     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

as  pippins."  We  did  not  see  many  of  these  pleasing 
pippins,  but  tliey  doubtless  all  appear  in  full  bloom 
once  a  year,  at  the  annual  May  bull-fights.  The  bull- 
ring is  an  ancient  building  of  stone,  and  superior  in 
solidity  to  any  other  we  have  seen.  The  Rondauas 
pride  themselves  on  their  good  apples  and  pears,  rosy 
women,  and  superior  horses,  and  the  fair  and  bull- 
fights in  the  last  of  May  have  a  more  than  local  celeb- 
rity. 

The  inn-keepers  of  Spain  are  ready  arithmeticians, 
and  have  nothing  to  learn  in  the  way  of  their  busi- 
ness except  how  to  keep  a  hotel.  In  their  bills  they 
cleverly  unite  the  European  and  American  systems. 
They  charge  a  round  sum  per  day,  and  then  embellish 
the  account  with  ornamental  extras ;  and  their  method 
of  reckoning  time  is  pecidiar.  We  arrived  at  the 
Honda  posada  at  eleven  o'clock  one  morning,  and  de- 
parted at  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning.  Our  bill  was 
made  out  for  a  day  and  a  half.  Breakfast  is  not  in- 
cluded in  "  the  day." 

We  attempted  to  reason  with  the  landlord.    I  said : 

"  So  you  think  that  is  right  ?  " 

"It  is  our  custom." 

"  I  am  sorry.  Not  for  myself.  I  don't  mind  it.  I 
am  a  mere  traveler,  and  shall  soon  pass  away  from 
Spain  —  if  the  hotels  leave  me  money  enough  to  get 
out  of  it.  But  I  am  sorry  for  Spain.  For  no  country 
can  rise  in  civilization  whose  people  call  twenty-two 
hours  a  day  and  a  half." 

The  landlord  gave  a  deprecatory  shrug  for  the  fu- 


A   RIDE  IN  SPAIN:  231 

ture  of  liis  country,  aucl  stretched  out  his  haucl  for  the 
money. 

Roncla's  communication  with  the  world  is  by  dili- 
gence to  the  railway  at  Gobantes,  nearly  thirty-five 
miles.  A  critical  assembly  of  boys,  loafers,  and  beg- 
gars is  collected  to  see  the  start.  The  baggage  is  se- 
cured on  top ;  the  passengers  take  their  places ;  we 
ascend  the  ladder  to  our  seats  in  the  coup^  above  the 
driver's  box ;  the  horses  are  brought  out,  —  two  horses, 
four  horses,  six  horses,  eight  horses,  half  of  them 
mules,  clad  in  hea\y  harness,  and  all  jingling  bells ; 
the  conductor  mounts  to  his  seat,  grasps  the  two  reins 
of  the  wheel  horses,  and  swings  his  long  whij) ;  the 
postilion,  as  the  team  starts,  vaults  into  the  saddle  of 
the  near  leader  without  touching  the  stirrup,  a  cool 
light-weight  in  shirt-sleeves,  with  a  short  whip,  and  a 
horn  slung  at  his  side  ;  the  supplementaiy  driver,  who 
also  has  a  short  whip,  runs  beside  the  team  to  excite  it 
for  the  start  and  then  springs  up  beside  the  conductor. 
We  are  off ;  three  whips  cracking,  bells  jingling,  con- 
ductor, postilion,  and  driver  shouting,  horn  tooting,  as 
we  turn  the  street  corners,  and  away  we  go  at  a  pace 
of  seven  miles  an  hour  over  a  smooth  turnpike,  on  an 
exhilarating  morning.  There  are  few  pleasures  in  life 
equal  to  this. 

The  gait  struck  at  first  is  maintained  without 
change,  up  grade  and  down  grade,  through  cuttings, 
round  long  curves,  over  the  rough  stones  of  newly 
mended  places,  —  a  trot  unbroken  for  an  instant  dur- 
ing the  first   stage  of   twelve   miles.     The   postilion 


232     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

squarely  sits  liis  saddle,  and  directs  tlie  team ;  the  con- 
ductor swings  his  long  whip  occasionally,  but  rarely 
utters  an  ejaculation ;  the  bvisiness  of  the  supplement- 
ary driver  is  to  do  the  talking  to  the  team.  He  talks 
incessantly,  calls  the  horses  by  name,  shouts  peculiar 
wild  cries  o£  encouragement,  makes  long  speeches. 
The  conductor  is  too  dignified  a  person  to  waste  him- 
self in  this  gabble  ;  but  on  an  unusual  grade,  over  a 
newly  stoned  stretch,  the  voices  of  the  three  drivers 
are  required,  and  the  team  is  kept  up  to  its  slapping 
pace  only  by  frantic  appeals  and  talk  enough  to  get  a 
bill  through  Congress. 

The  road  is  superbly  made.  Every  three  miles 
there  is  a  white  station-house,  in  wliich  the  road-re- 
pairers live,  with  Peonas  Comineros  ■s\Titten  over  the 
door.  The  road-makers  are  in  uniform.  Red  is  a  fa- 
vorite color  with  them,  —  red  sashes  and  red  f acinsrs 
to  their  coats.  Portions  of  them  are  at  work  all 
along  the  line.  Other  houses  beside  these  stations 
are  not  seen.  The  country,  wholly  denuded  of  trees, 
is  broken  into  rolling,  irregular  hills,  cut  with  deep 
ravines,  bristling  with  sharp,  rocky  j)eaks.  We  are 
always  sweeping  round  curves,  circling  ravines,  as- 
cending long  stretches  of  road,  from  which  we  have 
superb  views  of  distant  mountains.  The  soil  is  deep 
red ;  the  hill-tops  and  ledges  seaming  the  sides  are 
of  gray  rock ;  the  cultivated  spots  in  high  valleys  are 
vivid  green :  and  we  get  some  splendid  effects  of  color, 
patches  of  red,  green,  and  gray,  mingled  in  harmony 
by  distance. 


A  RIDE  IN  SPAm.  233 

At  La  Cava,  a  whitewaslied  little  village  in  a  valley, 
we  change  horses ;  nine  in  the  team,  this  stage.  At 
the  posada  in  one  end  of  the  stable  we  aU  take  coffee, 
which  is  as  good  as  you  could  expect  in  a  stable.  We 
change  again  at  Peuas  Rubia,  or  Red  Rock,  taking  its 
name  from  a  mountain  of  red  stone  that  overlooks  it. 
We  change  again  at  Teba.  Except  for  these  villages, 
the  region  we  passed  through  is  houseless. 

At  intervals  of  five  miles  along  the  route  we  encoun- 
tered two  gendarmes.  They  always  stood  in  the  same 
attitude,  one  on  each  side  the  road,  facing  the  coach, 
and  presenting  arms.  We  saw  them  in  this  position 
a  long  distance  off.  They  maintained  the  same  immov- 
able attitude  as  long  as  we  were  in  sight.  These  men 
belong  to  the  Guardias  civiles,  which  is  the  most  re- 
markable and  effective  body  of  police,  perhaps,  in  the 
world.  This  guard  was  organized  in  1844,  and  is 
composed  of  20,000  foot  and  5,000  horse  guards,  all 
picked  men,  selected  from  the  army  and  the  cadet  col- 
lege at  INIadrid,  for  high  character  as  well  as  physical 
perfection.  They  are  tall,  well-made,  fine-looking  fel- 
lows, and  remarkable  for  their  esjyrit  de  corps.  They 
wear  a  picturesque  and  becoming  cocked  hat,  their  uni- 
form is  blue,  with  buff  belts  and  straps,  and  they  carry 
the  Remington  rifle.  Two  of  them  are  stationed  in 
every  small  town  and  village,  and  in  barracks  on  every 
highway,  and  squads  in  every  large  town.  They  patrol 
the  roads,  meet  every  train  at  every  station,  and  perform 
the  duties  of  police  with  such  effect  that  robberies  are 
rare  and  seldom  undetected.     It  is  due  to  this  alert. 


234     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

well-disciplinecl,  self-resi^ectlng  body  of  men  that  order 
and  security  exist  in  Spain,  and  the  country  is  safe  for 
travelers.  The  body  has  a  weekly  periodical  of  its 
own ;  it  is  governed  by  minute  and  severe  rules,  and 
is  animated  by  something  of  the  spirit  of  devotion  and 
knightly  pride  that  characterized  the  soldiers  of  Loy- 
ola. We  had  encountered  these  men  all  the  way  from 
Arcos.  We  had  met  couples  of  them  mounted  in  the 
most  lonesome  mountain  passes  and  forests.  They 
were  always  neat,  always  civil,  alert.  If  Southern 
Italy  and  Sicily  had  such  a  body  of  guardians,  the 
robbery  and  brigandage  which  disgrace  people  and 
government  would  cease. 

At  two  o'clock  we  dashed  into  the  insignificant  lit- 
tle railway  station  of  Gobantes.  Our  exciting  ride 
was  over.  The  lively  postilion  approached,  hat  in 
hand,  for  a  peseta.  The  conductor  gravely  com- 
mended us  to  God.  As  we  ate  our  lunch  in  a  mean 
posada,  our  minds  ran  back  over  the  region  through 
which  we  had  been  wliirled,  mostly  barren,  except 
for  the  patches  of  wheat  and  vetch,  now  and  then  a 
small  olive  plantation,  or  a  line  of  slender  trees  and 
bushes  by  some  feeble  stream.  The  prevailing  im- 
pression was  of  a  wide,  open,  windy  sweep  of  deso- 
late, treeless  land.  But  for  four  days,  at  least,  we 
had  been  in  Spain. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


Fortunately  for  my  readers  and  myself,  detailed 
descriptions  of  the  palaces  of  the  Alhanibra,  and  plas- 
ter casts  of  its  courts  and  decorations,  are  so  common 
that  I  am  relieved  of  duty  in  that  respect. 

And  thanks  to  Washington  Irving,  one  inherits 
without  effort  all  the  romance  of  the  place.  He  is  in 
some  sort  the  genius  loci  ;  the  guides  show  the  apart- 
ments he  occupied,  and  American  travelers  like  to  sit 
in  the  arched  window  of  the  hall  of  the  ambassadors 
and  look  down  into  the  valley  of  the  Darro,  or  lounge 
by  the  fountain  in  the  orange  garden  of  Lindaraja, 
places  where  Irving  liked  to  dream  and  to  reproduce 
from  old  chronicles,  or  the  lips  of  the  gossips,  the  an- 
cient Moorish  legends ;  his  guide  and  romancer,  Mat- 
teo  Ximenes,  who  died  only  two  years  ago,  is  rej)re- 
sented  by  his  son,  who  calls  himself  the  grandson  of 
the  Alhanibra,'  as  his  father  was  its  son,  and  is  as 
proud  of  his  connection  with  Irving  as  he  is  of  the 
supposed  family  relation  to  Cardinal  Ximenes ;  the 
dwellers  in  the  house  of  Tia  Antonia  like  to  tell  that 
she  lived  there,  because  she  was  Irving's  housekeeper  ; 
and  the  neiohborhood  cherishes  a  certain  tender  in- 


236    NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

terest  in  tlie  charming-  little  Dolores,  because  Irving 
was  fond  of  the  child,  the  Dolores  who  married  the 
surgeon,  and  was  years  ago  turned  into  dust. 

I  suspect  that  the  elements  of  romance  still  exist 
among  the  inhabitants  of  the  Alhambra  precincts,  if 
Irving  were  only  here  to  idealize  the  plain  and  simple 
life.  A  certain  freedom  of  vagabondage  is  gone,  since 
the  government  has  taken  the  once  deserted  palaces 
and  gardens  in  charge,  and  swept  and  garnished  them, 
locked  up  many  apartments,  and  put  the  halls  and 
crumbling  towers  in  charge  of  custodians. 

Within  the  Alhambra  inclosure,  that  is,  within  the 
circuit  of  the  walls  of  the  hill,  there  is  considerable 
unoccupied  ground,  and  quite  a  little  village  of  small 
houses  and  gardens.  Whether  their  occupiers  orig- 
inally were  "  squatters  "  without  title,  I  do  not  know, 
but  the  premises  are  now  owned  by  private  persons. 
The  governor  of  the  Alhambra,  who  has  made  many 
restorations  within  the  palaces,  occupies  a  house,  a 
part  of  which  is  Moorish,  and  a  portion  of  his  estab- 
lishment is  devoted  to  the  reproduction  of  the  stucco 
decorations,  and  the  manufacture  of  the  models  which 
are  now  seen  in  all  parts  of  the  world.  It  must  be  a 
very  profitable  trade.  The  governor's  garden,  is  a 
narrow  terrace,  backed  by  the  high  Walls  of  the  in- 
closure of  the  old  Vela  tower.  This  wall  is  draped 
with  ivy  and  rose  climbers,  and  against  it  are  trained 
orange  and  lemon-trees.  Three  of  these  orange-trees, 
the  gardener  says,  are  two  centuries  old.  The  effect 
of  this  wall  of  glistening  green,  enlivened  by  the  globe 


THE  ALHAMBRA.  237 

of  yellow  fruit,  and  the  roses,  red,  buff,  pink,  and  crim- 
son, is  exquisite.  The  garden  is  in  fact  one  of  the 
loveliest  places  in  the  world.  Thrust  out,  as  it  is,  on 
the  point  of  the  rocky  ledge  of  the  Alhambra,  it  com- 
mands a  prospect  almost  unparalleled.  Looking  over 
the  low  j)arapet,  you  have  immediately  beneath  you  the 
great  Elm  forest,  farther  down  the  wide-spread  city,  to 
the  right  the  extensive  Vega,  a  green  plain  through 
which  you  can  trace  the  bed  of  the  winding  Genii,  and 
on  the  left,  beyond  the  mass  of  trees,  and  beyond  the 
first  range  of  purple  mountains,  the  long  sharp  range 
of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  with  its  remote  snow  fields,  like 
silver  under  the  blue  sky. 

Looking  down  upon  the  Vega,  and  the  hills  some 
thirty  miles  away  that  hem  it  in,  you  can  re-create  the 
scene  of  the  final  siege  before  the  capture  of  Granada. 
Through  that  pass  the  army  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella 
poured  into  the  plain.  There  they  spread  themselves 
over  the  smiling  meadows,  set  up  their  shining  camp, 
and  planted  their  standards.  There  are  the  remains 
of  the  city  of  Santa  Fe,  which  they  raised  as  if  by 
enchantment  after  the  conflagration  of  their  camp. 
There  were  the  Moorish  gardens,  in  which  the  Mos- 
lems fought,  foot  by  foot,  for  the  retention  of  their 
paradise.  This  tower  of  the  Vela  above  us  was  the 
ancient  watch-tower.  There  hangs  the  silver-toned 
bell  which  the  Moslems  rung  as  a  signal  to  let  on  the 
waters  for  the  gardens  and  the  fountains,  in  the  city 
below,  the  sound  of  which  it  is  said  could  be  heard  as 
far  as  Loja,  thirty  miles  off.    The  maiden  who  strikes 


238    NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

it  now  is  sure  of  a  husband  before  tlie  year  is  out,  and 
of  a  good  one  if  she  rings  loud  enough.  On  certain 
fete  days  the  women  make  it  lively  for  the  bell.  On 
that  tower  floated  the  old  Moorish  standard,  wliich 
was  pulled  down  at  the  conquest,  and  there  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella,  who  watched  in  the  plain  below  for  this 
sign  of  surrender,  saw  with  exulting  hearts  the  unfold- 
ing of  the  banners  of  Castile  and  Aragon,  which  as- 
sured them  that  the  coveted  Alhambra  was  theirs.    • 

Among  the  chief  charms  of  the  Alhambra  are  the 
groves  and  the  waters.  Outside  the  Alhambra  walls 
are  the  slopes  and  ravines  that  were  the  gardens  of 
the  palace-fortress.  We  enter  them  from  the  city  be- 
low, by  an  ancient  gateway,  and  through  three  broad 
paths  and  roads  that  lead  up  to  the  entrance  of  the 
Alhambra  inclosure.  These  gardens  are  now  an  im- 
mense grove  of  elm-trees,  the  originals  of  which  were 
sent  out  from  England  by  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 
Whether  the  trees  were  thickly  planted,  or  were  self- 
sown,  I  do  not  know,  but  they  stand  now  closely  to- 
gether, and  form  a  forest  thicket,  making  a  dense 
shade.  In  the  course  of  three  quarters  of  a  century 
they  have  become  large  trees,  and  standing  in  such 
thick  array,  have  shot  up  to  a  great  height.  It  is  a 
magnificent  grove.  Falling  down  in  cascades  from 
the  height  of  the  Alhambra,  the  waters  run  in  swift 
streams  beside  the  roads  and  paths.  The  forest 
abounds  in  birds,  and  their  sinoinsr  minjiled  with  the 
music  of  the  leaping  waters,  and  the  sunlight  sifted 
through  the  green  canoj^y  upon  the  taU  stems  and  the 


THE  ALHAMBRA.  239 

undergrowth,  make  an  enchanting  scene.  In  the  edge 
of  this  wood,  under  the  walls  of  the  inclosure,  are 
the  two  hotels,  the  Washington  Irving  and  the  Siete 
Suelos,  the  latter  so  named  from  the  Tower  of  Seven 
Stories  ahove  it.  It  was  through  this  tower  that 
Boabdil  descended  when  he  went  to  meet  Ferdinand 
and  surrender  his  kingdom. 

The  Alhambra  promontory  is  one,  and  not  the  high- 
est, of  the  spurs  that  make  down  into  the  plain  be- 
tween the  rivers  Darro  and  Genii.     It  was  only  a 
barren  and  rocky  projection.     The  Moors  by  their 
taste  and  genius  transformed  it  into  the  most  luxu- 
rious and  charming  abode  in  the  world.     From  the 
mountains  by   several   conduits   they   brought  down 
abundant  waters.      There  were  fountains  along  the 
hill-sides,  there  were  fountains,  ponds,  and  baths  in 
every  part  of  the  palace  and  gardens,  and  the  over- 
flow descended  into  the  gardens  and  the  plain  below 
in   fertilizing  streams.     You  can  hear   now,  as   you 
w^alk  about  the  inclosure,  the  pleasant  noise  of  water 
running  imder  ground.     Many  of  the  conduits  have 
become  stopped  up,  and  the  palace  fountains,  which 
were  always  bubbling  in  Irving's  time,  and  add  the 
last  charm  to  the  lovely  interiors,  now  only  play  on 
rare  occasions.     The  Spaniards  have  had  neither  the 
taste  nor  the  energy  to  keep  open  the  channels  that 
the  Moors  created  with  so  much  lo\ang  labor. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  Alhambra  grounds  are  of 
the  humble  sort,  for  the  most  part,  although  when  the 
gills  put  on  their  black  mantiUas  and  walk  out  armed 


240    NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

with  the  fan  they  are  not  to  be  distinguished  from 
the  ladies  of  the  land.  Here  reside  guides,  and  small 
artificers,  and  the  poor  who  have  a  prescriptive  right 
to  dwell  in  and  about  marble  halls.  The  race  is  not 
likely  to  run  out,  for  the  place  swarms  with  children. 
A  people  are,  I  dare  say,  industrious,  after  the  easy 
manner  of  Spaniards,  and  necessarily  frugal,  yet  not 
without  the  enjoyments  of  existence  in  a  place  so 
wholesome  by  waters,  and  made  so  attractive  by  art : 
one  hears  at  all  times,  and  especially  at  twilight,  the 
tinkle  of  the  guitar  and  the  gay  chatter  of  the  neigh- 
borhood. 

I  was  fortunate  enough  to  get  established  in  these 
precincts  shortly  after  my  arrival,  and  escape  the  tour- 
ists (like  myself)  at  the  hotels,  and  the  hotels  them- 
selves, which  by  their  situation  in  the  glen  among  the 
tall  trees,  and  under  the  walls,  are  somewhat  damp. 
I  have  pleasant  rooms  with  an  honest  worker  in  silver 
and  gold,  who  fabricates  ladies'  breastpins,  and  ear- 
rings, and  other  ornaments  in  imitation  of  some  of  the 
pretty  devices  on  the  walls  of  the  Alhambra.  Here  I 
am  furnished  with  such  simple  food  and  cooking  as 
these  economical  people  think  sufficient  for  themselves, 
which  I  eat  with  more  thankfulness  that  it  is  eaten 
within  the  Alhambra  than  I  would  muster  to  bestow 
upon  it  elsewhere.  God  has  so  constituted  these  happy 
people  that  they  eat  with  relish  a  dish  of  disagreeable 
beans,  cooked  in  oil  not  of  the  sweetest,  two  or  three 
times  a  day  during  their  natural  lives.  But  beans 
served  with  kindness  are  better  than  —  well,  better 


THE  ALHAMBRA.  241 

than  beans  served  without  kindness.  I  am  waited  on 
at  table  by  Narcissa,  the  pretty  daughter  of  my  host, 
who  brings  me  daily  my  daily  beans,  for  which  I  do 
not  pray,  with  as  sweet  a  smile  as  she  offers  the  or- 
anges and  the  dish  of  wild  strawberries.  Narcissa  is, 
I  do  not  doubt,  as  lovely  a  little  maiden  as  Dolores 
■was,  and  perhaps  more  prepossessing  v/hen  she  is 
decked  in  her  holiday  clothes.  If  women  have  any 
vanity  of  dress,  I  should  say  that  Narcissa  is  artlessly 
pleased  with  her  appearance ;  and  why  shoidd  she  not 
be,  for  she  is  as  fresh  and  winning  as  the  vase  of  roses 
which  she  places  every  day  upon  the  table.  "When 
the  little  maid  is  not  about  her  household  duties,  she 
is  always  strumming  a  guitar.  Every  day  a  young 
professor  of  the  art  —  I  am  sm-e  that  he  cannot  be  her 
lover  —  comes  to  give  her  lessons,  and  I  see  him  in 
the  room  below,  with  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  a  cigar- 
ette in  his  mouth  sitting  oj^posite  to  her,  performing 
his  agreeable  duty,  playing  always  the  same  dance 
tune,  the  Fandango,  day  after  day,  in  which  she  ac- 
companies him  in  endless  iteration.  That  tune  is  the 
air  of  Spain,  common  as  the  atmosphere,  and  it  never 
seems  to  weary  performers  or  listeners.  The  Span- 
iards, like  the  Moors,  seem  content  in  music  with  the 
simplest  harmony,  and  never  tire  of  repetition. 

The  guitar,  however,  is  a  different  instrument  in  the 
hands  of  a  master.  I  went  the  other  evening  to  see 
a  Gypsy  dance,  and  to  hear  the  king  of  the  Gypsies 
play.  The  king,  who  wears  the  dress  of  an  ordinary 
Spaniard,  is  a  man  of  some  forty-five  years,  very  dark 

16 


242    NOTES   OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

complexion,  and,  unlike  any  other  of  his  race  I  have 
seen,  with  a  fine  head,  and  good  features,  and  a  com- 
manding and  dignified  bearing.  I  had  heard  that  he 
is  the  best  guitar  player  in  Europe,  and  that  he  has  re- 
fused offers  to  go  to  the  capitals.  He  certainly  han- 
dled the  instrument  as  I  never  saw  it  handled  by  any- 
one else,  and  made  it  sing  and  almost  sj)eak,  in  a  sort 
of  articulation  of  the  airs  he  rendered,  in  a  most  re- 
markable manner.  Most  of  the  compositions  he  gave 
were  gitano  dances,  but  he  played  one  piece  of  exqui- 
site pathos  and  feeling.  It  was,  he  said,  a  marcTie  fu- 
nehre.,  El  ultimo  Suspiro  del  Moro  (The  Last  Sigh 
of  the  Moor),  a  mournful  and  touching  reminiscence 
of  the  departure  of  Boabdil  from  his  lost  capital,  when 
he  turned  back  from  a  sandy  knoll  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Vega,  to  look  his  last  upon  the  towers  of  the  Ab 
hambra. 

The  dancing  of  the  Gjq^sy  women,  whom  the  king 
had  called  over  from  their  quarters  for  the  amusement 
of  the  strangers,  was  in  no  way  remarkable.  The 
dance  consists  largely  in  posturing,  in  a  movement  of 
the  hips  and  the  arms,  while  the  feet  execute  the  steps. 
Although  much  livelier  than  the  Gawazee  dance  of 
Egypt,  it  is  in  essence  the  beguilement  of  the  old  ser- 
pent of  the  Nile,  and  is  intended  to  be  the  seductive 
expression  of  passion.  It  is  done  with  more  abandon 
and  less  reserve  in  the  Gypsy  quarters.  When  it  is 
performed  with  skill  by  women  of  some  grace  and 
beauty,  it  can  be  imagined  that  it  would  have  a  bar- 
baric and  passionate  attraction.  But  the  girls  dancing 
before  the  king  were  all  ugly  and  all  clumsy. 


THE  ALHAMBRA.  '    243 

Gypsy  dancing,  it  may  be  said  here,  is  practiced  in 
low  resorts  —  a  shade  under  the  cafes  chantant  of 
Paris  —  in  Malaga,  Seville,  and  most  of  the  large 
Spanish  towns,  frequented  by  men,  who  sip  their  coffee 
and  liquors  at  small  tables,  while  the  performance  goes 
on  upon  the  stage,  in  a  lazy,  monotonous,  but  indeco- 
rous manner.  We  went  one  evening  in  Seville  to  see 
an  exhibition  of  National  Dancing,  gotten  up  for  the 
instruction  of  foreigners,  in  a  cheerful  and  well-lighted 
hall.  The  spectators  occupied  benches  on  two  sides  of 
the  hall,  and  the  performers  were  seated  opposite.  Most 
of  the  dances  were  pas  seuls  and  pas  deux  of  the  bal- 
let order,  with  the  bolero  and  the  cachuca  very  coquet- 
tishly  and  prettily  executed,  accompanied  by  the  sharp 
rattle  of  castinets,  the  measured  clapping  of  hands, 
and  an  occasional  outburst  of  singing  in  the  Arabic 
manner,  and  quavering  ejaculations  of  encourage- 
ment —  a-ya^  a-ya.  The  music  was  minor  and  thor- 
oughly Moorish  in  character,  so  that  in  spite  of  the 
ballet  costumes  of  the  dancers,  the  whole  performance 
was  full  of  Oriental  suggestions.  It  would  have  been 
tiresome,  on  the  whole,  but  for  an  incident  which  may 
or  may  not  have  been  on  the  progTamme.  On  the 
bench  with  the  girls  was  seated  a  woman  of  perhaps 
thirty-five  years,  who  seemed  to  be  the  directress  of 
the  performance.  Tall,  with  supple,  slender  figure, 
rich  olive  complexion,  and  large,  dark,  flashing  eyes, 
there  was  no  mistaking  her  gitano  blood.  You  might 
have  called  her  plain  anywhere  else,  but  as  she 
watched  the  dancing  with  glowing  eyes,  clapped  her 


244     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

hands,  and  swayed  to  tlie  time  of  the  lingering,  entic- 
ing music,  one  could  see  that  some  excitement  was 
growing  within  —  it  might  be  from  reminiscence,  it 
might  be  the  flash  of  desire  —  until  something  like 
beauty  lit  up  the  expressive  face.  During  the  pauses 
in  the  dancing,  the  music  still  went  on,  and  the  clap- 
ping of  hands,  and  the  outbursts  of  singing  and  ejac- 
ulation, sometimes  rising  into  a  wailing,  passionate 
chorus,  as  if  it  would  sweep  away  all  barriers  and  go 
headlong.  The  woman  was  not  insensible  to  this  sen- 
suous invitation.  Suddenly,  as  if  impelled  by  a  power 
within  that  she  could  no  longer  resist,  she  sj)rang  uj), 
and  stood  in  her  long  gown,  calm,  with  the  calmness 
of  one  quivering  with  suppressed  excitement.  A  part- 
ner stepped  out  before  her,  clad  in  the  national  short 
jacket,  sash,  and  knee  breeches,  and  the  dance  began, 
with  lifted  arms  and  slow,  reluctant  steps.  Without 
spring,  without  elasticity,  but  in  measured  heaviness 
the  dance  began.  I  do  not  know  how  these  lioht  fio;- 
ures  contrived  to  give  the  impression  that  they  were 
borne  down  by  a  weight  almost  impossible  to  be  lifted 
from  the  floor.  Every  movement  seemed  a  lift  against 
gravitation.  The  woman  struggled  with  an  intoler- 
able languor,  which  yet  was  not  so  much  languor  as 
weight,  as  if  her  limbs  weighed  a  ton,  and  coiild  not 
respond  to  the  music  which  every  moment  grew  louder 
and  more  entreating.  It  was  the  heaviness  of  pas- 
sion, that  bound  its  victim  to  the  earth.  In  all  this 
symbolic  dance,  in  which  the  story  of  courtship  was 
told,  the  advancing,  retreating,  denying,  accepting,  her 


THE  ALHAMBRA.  245 

movements  never  lost  this  sense  of  weiglit  and  strug- 
gle. There  was  little  gesticulation,  none  of  the  spring- 
ing as  in  the  caehuca,  none  of  the  quivering  of  the 
muscles  of  the  body  as  in  the  dance  of  the  Gawazee, 
but  always  the  appearance  of  deep  passion  suppressed. 
And  it  was  not  alone  the  passion  of  the  body  but  of 
the  sold,  for  the  notable  tiling  was  that  this  woman, 
who  was  always  decorous,  threw  into  every  movement 
an  expression  of  inward  feeling,  intense,  passionate, 
subtle.  The  impulse  was  all  from  within.  You  re- 
garded little  the  external  pei'formance,  so  impressed 
were  you  by  the  inward  effort  and  longing.  All  real 
dancing  —  that  is,  not  mere  capering  for  exercise  —  is 
the  expression  of  sentiment  and  emotion.  This  danc- 
ing, if  one  may  make  the  distinction,  so  entirely  was  it 
from  passion  vathin,  seemed  rather  the  emotion  itseK 
seeking  expression.  This  was  the  art  that  no  dancing- 
master  can  teach,  inherited,  I  doubt  not,  from  her  an- 
cestors on  the  Ganges,  but  the  art  that  none  but  a 
woman  caninlierit. 

There  are  about  six  hundred  Gjq^sies  in  Granada. 
There  is  one  settlement  on  the  Albaycin  hill,  the  old- 
est Moorish  quarter  of  Granada  in  the  ravines  above 
the  Darro,  and  another  in  a  ravine  opening  to  the  Ge- 
nii. A  few  of  them  have  rude  huts  of  stone,  but  most 
of  them  live  in  caves  hollowed  out  of  the  rock.  The 
front  and  the  door  being  whitewashed,  these  habita- 
tions look  like  houses  in  the  distance,  half  concealed  as 
they  are  by  thick  plantations  of  cactus.  The  whole 
mountain-side  and   the  ravines  are   covered  with  an 


246     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

almost  impenetrable  growth  of  cactus,  and  tlie  entrance 
to  the  caves  is  through  lanes  of  the  prickly  shrub. 
The  caves  usually  have  two  apartments,  which  may  be 
from  ten  to  fifteen  feet  square.  The  outer  one  is  the 
living  room,  the  kitchen,  the  workshop,  where  the  bas- 
ket-weaving or  the  blacksmithing,  or  some  other  trade, 
is  carried  on ;  the  inner  room,  little  more  than  a  dark 
hole  in  the  rock,  is  the  sleeping  chamber.  The  only 
light  to  both  is  from  the  door.  Some  of  them,  into 
which  we  went,  were  very  neat,  and  the  honest  house- 
wives were  proud  to  show  them,  with  the  rows  of  blue 
and  other  decorated  pottery  hung  on  the  walls  for  or- 
nament, as  the  fashion  is  in  all  sesthetic  homes.  The 
Gypsies  are  most  persistent  beggars,  and  the  traveler 
who  ventures  into  their  quarters  has  some  difficulty  in 
extricating  himself  from  the  swarm  of  young  and  old 
women  and  children,  wlio  obstruct  his  path,  and  seize 
hold  of  him,  and  clamor  for  money.  In  all  the  camp 
we  saw  but  one  beauty,  a  slender  girl  of  perhaps  seven- 
teen, who  danced  with  grace  and  Oriental  suggestive- 
ness.  Her  raven  hair  was  arranged  in  heavy  rings 
fastened  down  to  the  forehead  (in  a  fashion  affected 
now  by  Spanish  ladies),  and  put  up  behind  in  a  mass 
secured  by  a  silver  stiletto  ;  her  dark  eyes  flashed  un- 
der a  low  brow,  the  very  brow  of  beauty ;  nose  and 
mouth  and  chin  might  be  called  regular,  but  had  an 
individual  piquancy,  and  her  complexion  was  tawny, 
glowing  with  color.  She  was  barefooted,  and  her 
scanty  dress  was  in  rags,  —  this  wild  beauty  among 
the  distorted  cactus  hedges  was   like  a  rose  among 


THE  ALHAMBRA.  247 

thorns  in  a  neglected  garden ;  but  I  do  not  know  liow 
she  would  bear  transplanting  and  taming. 

To  return  to  our  Alliambra.  My  windows  look 
out  over  a  trellis  of  grape  vines,  into  a  little  garden 
watered  by  one  of  the  old  Moorish  conduits,  where  the 
fig  and  the  pomegranate  grow,  but  it  is  chiefly  a  gar- 
den of  rose-bushes,  trees  almost,  which  flower  in  this 
month  of  the  Madonna  with  the  utmost  luxuriance. 
Varieties  that  are  commonl}^  only  grown  in  a  hot- 
house, superb  crimsons,  with  petals  of  velvet  and  a 
perfmne  that  recalls  the  old-fashioned  rose  that  grew 
by  the  Xew  England  door-step,  make  gay  this  little 
reserve,  and  fill  the  air  with  odor.  Beyond,  over  the 
trees,  and  lifted  up  above  purple,  rocky  hills,  is  the 
long  range  of  the  snowy  Sierra  Nevada.  In  the  com- 
mon light  it  is  silver  against  the  blue  sky,  but  at 
morning  and  evening  it  takes  a  ruddy  hue,  and  glows 
with  a  soft  splendor.  Just  across  the  street  is  the 
church  of  Santa  Maria,  on  the  site  of  a  mosque,  with  a 
tower  hardly  over-topping  the  tall  poplars  clustered 
about  it,  in  which  the  bells  are  always  jangling.  And 
yonder  is  the  convent  of  the  Franciscans,  where  was 
placed  for  a  time  the  body  of  Gonsalvo  Fernandez  de 
Cordova,  the  Great  Captain,  and  where  the  coffins  of 
Fei'dinand  and  Isabella  remained  till  they  were  re- 
moved to  their  present  resting-place  in  the  cathedral 
of  Granada. 

The  Alhambra  is  a  jumble  of  buildings,  with  irreg- 
ular tiled  roofs,  and  absolutely  plain,  rough,  uncolored 
walls  on  the  exterior,  that  give  no  indication  of  the 


248     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

beauty  within.  Tims  the  Moor  in  his  palace  fortress 
masked  the  splendor  of  his  luxurious  residence,  as  he 
concealed  the  beauties  of  his  harem  from  vulgar  eyes. 
What  the  chief  entrance  was,  we  have  no  means  of 
knowing,  for  Charles  V.  pulled  it  down,  together  with 
a  portion  of  the  palace,  to  make  room  for  his  own 
palace,  an  enormous,  heavy  mass  which  obtrudes  itself 
in  the  centre  of  the  Alhambra  inclosure.  This  pseudo- 
Roman  and  Bramante  construction  is  the  eye-sore  of 
the  grounds.  The  Emperor  drained  his  treasury  on 
it,  and  left  it  unfinished,  and  it  is  solid  enough  and 
ugly  enough  to  resist  earthquakes  and  the  weather. 
Nothing  could  be  in  worse  taste,  and  in  less  keeping 
with  its  surroundings.  Within  the  vast  pile  is  an, 
arena  for  bull-fights.  The  Spaniard,  who  touched  noth- 
ing after  the  conquest  that  he  did  not  degrade  it,  re- 
placed some  of  the  tile-work  in  the  halls  and  courts  of 
the  Alhambra  with  the  rough  and  tasteless  tiles  of  his 
own  manufacture.  He  also  roofed  one  of  the  lesser 
halls  with  heavy  and  vulgar  ceiling.  We  can  forgive 
his  destruction  and  his  neglect  better  than  his  restora- 
tions and  substitutions. 

The  beautiful  stucco  decorations  of  the  walls  can  be 
reproduced  with  an  approach  to  the  original,  excej)t 
as  to  color,  for  it  is  not  difficult  to  take  impressions 
and  make  accurate  casts  of  the  old  work.  The  new 
work,  however,  is  too  sharp,  and  lacks  the  delicious 
tone  that  the  old  has  acquired.  The  original  stucco 
work,  the  designs  of  which  are  infinite  in  variety,  and 
as  exquisite  as  the  finest  laces,  was  colored  in  blue, 


THE  ALHAMBRA.  249 

red,  green,  yellow,  and  gilt.  These  colors  have  been 
reproduced  in  some  restorations  of  the  Alhambra,  but 
the  colors  are  too  garish. 

What  is  beyond  imitation,  and  beyond  copying,  how- 
ever, is  the  tiling  on  the  dadoes.  It  is  in  endless 
variety  of  pleasing  and  never-wearying  patterns,  done 
in  the  solid  primary  colors,  but  all  iridescent,  shim- 
mering in  colors  like  an  opal,  or  the  feathers  of  the 
peacock.  I  go  day  after  day  to  feast  my  eye  on  the 
splendor  of  this  reflected  light  and  sheen,  and  I  wan- 
der from  hall  to  hall,  and  tower  to  tower,  in  amaze- 
ment at  the  fertility  of  invention  that  never  repeated 
itself. 

There  are  two  or  three  incongruities  in  the  decora- 
tion of  the  Alhambra  which  cannot  escape  observation. 
One  of  them  is  the  rude,  snub-nosed,  heraldic  lions 
that  support  the  fountain  basin  in  the  court  that  takes 
its  name  from  them.  Another  is  three  roof  paint- 
ings in  the  Sala  de  Justicia,  off  the  Court  of  Lyons. 
One  of  these  pamtings  represents  ten  bearded  Moors, 
seated  in  council ;  they  are  in  the  true  costume  of  the 
Granada  Moor,  the  features  are  Oriental  'in  cast,  but 
regular  and  noble,  even  beautiful,  the  figures  are  well 
drawn,  and  the  colors  are  brilliant  and  fresh  as  any 
fresco  of  the  best  period  of  the  art.  There  are  other 
scenes  of  chivalry,  of  love,  of  hunting,  with  a  back- 
ground of  trees,  castles,  and  animals,  but  all  the  sub- 
jects are  in  honor  of  the  Moor,  whose  royal  shield  is 
seen  everywhere.  In  one  a  Moorish  knight  unhorses  a 
Christian  warrior.     These  paintings  are  said  to  be  ou 


250     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

leather,  nailed  to  the  ceilings.  As  the  Moslem  religion 
did  not  permit  any  carving,  or  any  decoration  in  imi- 
tation of  any  living  thing,  how  came  these  lions,  and 
these  paintings,  in  a  Moorish  paiace,  which  is  else- 
where devoid  of  even  an  imitation  of  flowers  or  any 
natural  objects  ?  It  is  suggested  that  the  paintings 
were  by  an  Italian  artist  in  the  fourteenth  century, 
but  why  did  the  Moslems  permit  them  ?  If  they  were 
executed  after  the  conquest,  in  this  hall  where  the 
pious  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  first  heard  mass,  and 
where  the  cross  was  .first  erected  after  their  entry, 
would  not  the  subjects  have  been  ecclesiastical  ?  Cer- 
tainly they  would  not  have  been  in  honor  of  the 
Moors.  The  lions  may  have  been  the  work  of  Per- 
sians, who  were  Sunites,  and  made  images,  and  used 
animal  forms  freely  in  decoration.  But  no  Persian 
could  ever  have  painted  these  pictures. 

Another  puzzle  is  the  famous  Alharabra  Vase,  con- 
sidering the  place  where  it  was  found.  This  noble 
piece  of  faience  is  over  four  feet  in  height,  and  of  ex- 
quisite proportions.  One  handle  is  gone,  and  it  is 
badly  cracked.  It  is  kept  out  of  sight  in  a  sort  of 
lumber  room,  called  the  museum,  lighted  by  one  small 
window,  and  stands  against  the  wall  so  that  it  cannot 
be  seen  to  advantage.  It  is  a  treasure  that  should 
have  a  conspicuous  exposure,  well  guarded,  where  all 
the  world  could  study  it.  It  is  highly  enameled  and 
beautifully  lustrous.  The  main  color  is  a  light  blue  — 
a  cerulean  color,  of  which  the  Arabs  seem  to  have  had 
the  secret.    The  decorations  are  formed  by  this  color, 


THE  ALHAMBRA.  251 

with  gold  and  brown  and  white.  The  sides  are  differ- 
ent. On  each  side,  however,  are  quaint  figures  of  an- 
imals, the  conventional  Persian  story.  The  whole  of 
the  decoration  in  its  feeling  and  character  is  Persian ; 
and  I  have  no  doubt  in  my  own  mind  that  the  decora- 
tors were  Persians.  There  is  nothing  else  of  the  same 
character  in  the  Alhambra  halls  or  towers.  I  saw  half 
a  dozen  wall  tiles  in  the  old  Moorish  Cuarto  Real,  in 
the  city.  They  have  a  white  ground  with  gold  scroll 
work  freely  drawn,  and  have  every  appearance  of  being 
Persian  work.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  the  iridescent 
tiles  of  the  Moors  have  no  resemblance  to  the  superb 
glazed  tiles  of  the  Persians,  and  of  the  Saracens  in 
Damascus  and  in  Egyi^t,  and  that  the  Barbaiy  Moors 
developed,  both  in  stucco  and  in  tiles,  a  perfectly  dis- 
tinct and  independent  sort  of  decoration.  At  least  it 
seems  so  to  me. 

In  what  is  called  now  The  Court  of  Blessing,  or 
sometimes  the  Court  de  la  Alberca  (of  the  Fish  Pond) 
—  at  one  end  of  which  was  the  winter  quarters  of  the 
palace,  which  Charles  V.  pulled  down  to  make  room 
for  his  hideous  construction,  and  at  the  other  the  Hall 
of  the  Ambassadors  —  is  a  long  tank  set  in  marble, 
and  the  water  in  it,  some  five  feet  deep,  beautifully  re- 
flects the  surrounding  colonnades,  arches,  and  decora- 
tions. This  pond  is  inhabited  by  gold  fish,  which 
"  they  say  "  are  the  lineal  descendants  of  the  fish  that 
swam  before  the  Moors.  All  I  know  is  that  some  of 
the  fish  have  the  peculiarity  of  a  tail  with  three  part- 
ings, and  these   strange  fish  are  as  likely  to  be  de- 


252     NOTES  OF  A   BOUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

scended  from  the  Moors  as  from  Charles  V.,  and  every- 
thins:  in  the  Alhambra  is  attributed  to  one  or  the 
other.  Some  people  believe  that  this  pond  was  once 
the  women's  bath,  but  I  cannot  think  that  they  ever, 
even  when  the  Alhambra  was  most  secluded,  used  so 
exposed  a  place,  and,  besides,  the  baths  of  the  estab- 
lishment are  below.  What  is  certain  is,  that  Wash- 
ington Irving  used  to  swim  here  when  he  resided  in 
the  palace.  The  ladies'  part  of  the  Alhambra  was 
probably  that  opening  upon  the  Court  of  Lions,  from 
which,  through  the  exquisite  Hall  of  the  Two  Sisters, 
we  look  through  a  double  arched  window,  with  a  slen- 
der centre  column,  into  the  Garden  of  Lindaraja. 
This  secluded  garden  is  one  of  the  most  delightful  re- 
treats and  lounging  places  in  the  whole  Alhambra 
area.  In  the  centre  is  a  fountain  with  a  large  alabas- 
ter basin  having  an  Arabic  inscription  ;  the  garden  is 
planted  with  box,  and  rose-trees,  and  myrtle,  and  vio- 
lets, and  against  the  wall  in  which  are  the  windows  of 
Irving's  apartments  are  tall  orange-trees  now  golden 
with  fruit.  This  green  and  gold,  seen  through  the 
colonnades  and  arches  from  the  Fountain  of  the  Lious, 
has  a  charming  eifect. 

One  cannot  linger  in  these  exquisite  halls  and  courts, 
in  which  there  is  so  much  beauty  and  such  desolation, 
or  stroll  about  the  circuit  of  towers,  so  stern  and  war- 
like outside,  but  decorated  with  such  fairy  work  within, 
without  attempting  in  his  mind  to  re-create  the  splen- 
did past.  What  must  these  halls  and  chambers  have 
been  before  time  frayed  the  stucco  and  earthquakes 


THE  ALHAMBRA.  253 

cracked  the  walls,  when  the  colors  were  fresh  and  lus- 
trous ;  when  the  walls  were  hung  with  the  tapestries  of 
the  East  and  the  embroideries  of  Timbuctoo,  and  the 
floors  were  soft  with  the  carpets  of  Fez ;  when  luxu 
rious  divans  in  the  sculptured  recesses  invited  to  re- 
pose, and  the  senses  were  lulled  by  the  perfumes  of 
swinging  lamps  and  the  sound  of  tiny  fountains  from 
which  the  water  ran  away  to  the  courts  in  marble  con- 
duits. It  was  a  sensuous  paradise,  a  foretaste  of  all 
that  the  Koran  promises.  When  the  Moor  looked 
down  from  these  lofty  windows  over  the  tree-tops  to 
the  busy  quarters  of  the  Albayein,  or  across  to  the 
noble  palace  and  gardens  of  the  Generalife,  and 
marked  the  security  of  his  position,  and  the  strength 
of  his  embattled  walls,  he  might  well  deliver  himself 
to  a  dream  of  unbroken  voluptuous  repose. 

But  the  dream  was  broken  forever  by  the  advent  of 
the  Christian  conquerors.     The  degradation  of  the  Al- 
hambra  begins  from  the  moment  of  the  Christian  oc- 
cupation.    Incongruities  introduced  by  a  people  whose 
faith  was  not  softened  by  a  sense  of  beauty  and  har- 
mony marred  the  perfection  of  the  Moorish  creation. 
In  any  other  place  one  might  be  interested,  if  not  ex- 
cited by  the  pomp  and  pageantry  of  the  chivalry  of 
Spain  which  flowed  through  these  halls,  even  if  he  did 
not  join  in  the  exultation  with  which  the  conquerors 
took  possession  of   this  wonder  of   the  world.     And 
now  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  and  Charles,  and  the 
Philips,  have  passed  away  as  utterly  as  Abul  Haja, 
Yusuf    I.,   Ibn-1-Abmar,   and  Muley   Abul   Hassan, 


254    NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY, 

Zorayda  and  Lindaraja,  Ayxa  la  Horra,  and  her  son 
Boabdil,  the  Abencerrages,  and  the  proud  house  of 
Nasir. 

The  conquerors  are  now  only  shades  like  the  van- 
quished, and  it  has  come  to  pass  that  the  interest  of 
the  world  in  this  former  palace  of  enchantment  is  not 
in  any  marks  the  victors  put  upon  it,  but  wholly  in 
the  reminiscences  and  relics  of  the  race  who  were  dis- 
possessed. And  yet  in  the  hour  of  victory,  in  the  mo- 
ment of  pride  over  the  expidsion  of  the  Moslem,  Fer- 
dinand and  Isabella  might  have  read,  all  over  the 
walls,  upon  the  royal  shields,  and  on  the  capitals,  the 
Arabic  legend :  Wa  la  ghdliba  ilia  Allah  —  "  God  is 
the  only  Conqueror." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


THE  BULL-FIGHT. 


Let  us  begin  tranquilly.  We  are  going  to  kill  a 
good  many  old  horses,  whose  four  feet  were  in  the 
grave  before  they  entered  the  ring,  and  we  are  going 
to  torture  them  in  their  last  hours  on  the  way  to 
the  bone-yard ;  we  are  going  to  bait,  and  worry,  and 
weaken  by  loss  of  blood,  and  finally  slaughter  a  num- 
ber of  noble  bulls  ;  perhaps  we  shall  break  some  pica- 
dor ribs  ;  we  are  about  to  enter  the  region  of  chivalry, 
and  engage  in  the  pastime  most  characteristic  of  and 
most  esteemed  by  the  Spanish  people ;  we  promise  gore 
and  carnage  enough  farther  on,  and  we  may  be  par- 
doned for  a  gentle  and  gentleman-and-lady-like  intro- 
duction to  the  noble  sport. 

One  afternoon,  in  Seville,  we  learned  that  there  was 
to  be  ^funcion  at  the  Bull-Ring,  given  by  amateurs, 
by  a  society  of  gentlemen  Caballeros,  whose  object 
is  the  cultivation  of  horsemanship  and  the  manly, 
national  pastime.  It  was  an  entertainment  given  by 
the  gentlemen  of  Seville  to  their  lady  friends,  offering 
at  the  shrine  of  beauty  the  best  fruit  of  a  gallant  civil- 
ization, and  probably  that  which  is  most  acceptable, 
just  as  the  amateur  Mendelssohn  Society  of  New  York 


256     NOTES  OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

gives  its  winter  concerts  to  a  refined  and  fashionable 
circle  of  friends.  As  admission  was  to  be  had  only 
on  special  invitation  of  the  members  of  the  club,  we 
had  no  expectation  of  participating,  but  we  drove 
down  to  the  amphitheatre  with  a  praiseworthy  curios- 
ity to  see  the  beauty  of  Seville,  in  holiday  attire,  flock 
in  to  the  spectacle. 

The  Bull-Ring,  which  stands  on  the  flat  —  all  Se- 
ville is  flat,  and  subject  more  or  less  to  the  overflow 
of  the  river  —  near  the  Guadalquivir,  is  an  ample 
one,  with  a  seating  capacity  of  eleven  thousand  per- 
sons. It  is  built  of  stone,  -s^ith  wide  interior  corridors 
and  entrance  galleries  to  the  different  stories  and  pri- 
vate boxes,  like  the  ancient  Colosseum.  Begun  over 
a  century  ago,  it  is  still  rough  and  unfinished,  but  it 
answers  all  the  substantial  purj^oses  of  its  erection. 
The  upper  galleries  and  rows  of  benches  on  the  shady 
side  are  set  apart  for  the  gentry ;  while  the  tiers  near 
the  ring  and  all  the  sunny  side  are  given  up  to  the 
lower  orders  and  the  rabble,  the  seats  being  much  less 
in  price  than  the  others. 

Carriages  blocked  the  sjoace  in  front  of  the  entrance, 
— the  most  aristocratic  of  which  were  a  sort  of  private 
and  not  much  glorified  omnibus,  drawn  by  a  team  of 
gayly  caparisoned  mules,  —  and  into  the  gates  jDoured 
a  stream,  principally  of  ladies  in  full  toilet.  It  was 
evidently  an  occasion  of  the  highest  fashion,  and  one 
that  exhausted  and  put  on  view  the  entire  beauty  and 
gentility  of  Seville.  The  regular  bull-fights  of  late 
years  apj^ear  to  have  lost  caste  somewhat  with  the 


THE  BULL-FIGHT.  257 

more  refined  circles  of  society,  and  the  stranger  might 
attend  a  dozen  and  not  see  a  tithe  of  the  dress  and 
display,  or  women  of  the  upper  rank,  that  were  forth- 
coming at  this  amateur  performance.     This  rare  op- 
portunity to  admire  the  beauty  of  Spain,  which  is  be- 
coming, so  far  as  national  peculiarities  are  concerned, 
somewhat  traditional,  made  us  anxious  to  be  admitted. 
At  length  I  plucked  up  courage  and  asked  one  of 
the  gentlemen  keeping  the  gate  and  taking  tickets  if 
there  was  any  proper  way  by  which  a  stranger  could 
gain  admittance.     He  replied,  with  great  courtesy,  that 
the  only  entrance  would  be  by  a  member's  ticket,  but 
that,  if  I  would  wait  a  little  till  the  rush  was  over,  he 
would  see  what  could  be  done.     We  amused  ourselves 
with  watching  the  gay  throng  trip  past,  in  all  the  ex- 
citement of  anticipation  of  the  choice  entertainment. 
At  leng-th  the  person  upon  whom  my  hopes  depended 
beckoned  to  me,  and  said  that  he  had  been  fortunate 
enoudi  to  secure  a  member's  ticket,  which  was  quite 
at  my  service,  and  he  was  evidently  very  glad  to  be 
able  to  obli2:e  a  stranger.     The  ticket  bore  the  name 
of  Don  somebody,  with  a  long  title,  and  was  evidently 
a  piece  of  paper  to  be  respected.     I  was  required  to 
wiite  my  name  on  it  as  his  guest.     When  I  read  the 
document,  I  found  that  it  virtually  entitled  me  to  all 
the  privileges  of  the  club  for  fourteen  days.  (I  had 
heard  so  much  of   Spanish  courtesy  and   generosity, 
and  unfortunately  seen  so  little  of  it  in  streets  and 
highways  of  travel,  that  I  was  glad  to  have  my  faith 
restored   by  this  act  of  hospitality.      Thanking  my 


258     NOTES   OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

temporary  friend  as  profusely  as  I  was  able,  I  was 
about  to  pass  into  the  arena,  when  an  expression  on 
his  face  arrested  my  attention,  and  a  good  providence 
led  me  to  ask,  "  How  much  may  I  give  you  for  this 
ticket  ?  "  "  Four  dollars,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  I 
said  I  thought  that  was  very  little  for  a  piece  of 
paper  conveying  such  privileges,  paid  the  vulgar  sil- 
ver, thanked  him  anew  for  his  favor,  to  which  he 
replied,  in  effect,  that  I  needn't  mention  it,  with  a 
gracious  air  of  presenting  me  with  the  entire  Bidl- 
Eing,  and  I  passed  in  among  the  select  elect. 

The  ring  had  been  contracted  for  action  to  about 
two  thirds  of  its  usual  size,  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
seats,  including  all  on  the  sunny  side,  were  vacant. 
But  the  audience  was,  nevertheless,  large,  all  the  bal- 
conies and  boxes,  and  most  of  the  benches  on  the  gen- 
try side,  being  fidl,  and  the  spectacle  was  exceedingly 
brilliant.  How  could  it  be  otherwise,  with  three  thou- 
sand ladies  in  full  drawing-room  toilet?  The  ladies 
of  Spain,  except  in  some  remote  towns  in  the  moun- 
tain regions,  have  laid  aside  the  national  costume,  and 
dress  according  to  the  dictates  of  Paris,  preferring 
even  the  French  fans  to  their  own  decorated  with  the 
incidents  of  the  bull-fight  and  the  serenade.  In  Se- 
ville, the  black  lace  mantilla  is  still  worn  at  church, 
and  to  some  extent  in  the  street ;  but  the  hat  is  the 
cover  of  the  new  fashion,  more's  the  pity,  and  the 
high  combs  have  gone  altogether.  I  do  not  know  why 
a  woman,  even  a  plain  woman,  should  be  so  utterly 
fascinating  in  a  mantilla,  thrown  over  a  high  comb 


THE  BULL-FIGHT.  259 

and  falling  gracefully  over  the  shoulders,  stepping 
daintily  in  high-heeled  shoes  with  pointed  toes,  and 
moving  her  large  fan  with  just  that  nonchalant  air  so 
accurately  calculated  to  wound  but  not  to  kill.  In 
the  whole  assembly  I  saw  only  one  or  two  national 
costumes :  the  mantilla  and  the  high  comb,  with  the 
short  petticoat,  brilliant  in  color.  Nothing  coidd  be 
more  becoming,  and  it  makes  one  doubt  whether 
woman's  strongest  desire  is  to  please,  and  whether 
it  is  not  rather  to  follow  the  fashion,  when  we  see  a 
whole  nation  abandon  such  a  charming  attire. 

But  the  white  mantilla  is  de  rigueur  for  a  bull-fight, 
and  every  lady  'Wore  one.  It  was  a  little  odd  to  see 
ladies  in  the  open  light  of  a  brilliant,  cloudless  day, 
and  in  the  gaze  of  the  public,  in  full  (as  it  is  called) 
costume  of  the  ball-room  ;  but  the  creamy-white  man- 
tillas softened  somewhat  the  too  brilliant  display,  and 
threw  over  the  whole  the  harmony  of  subdued  splen- 
dor. What  suj)erb  Spanish  lace,  blonde,  soft,  with  a 
silken  lustre,  falling  in  lovely  folds  that  show  its  gen- 
erous and  exquisitely  wrought  figures,  each  leaf  and 
stem  and  flower  the  creation  of  dainty  fingers !  Such 
work  as  this,  of  such  a  tone  and  fineness,  in  such  large 
mantillas,  sweeping  from  the  head  to  the  train,  is 
scarcely  to  be  found  in  the  shops  nowadays.  These 
were  heir-looms,  —  great-great-grandmother's  lace,  long 
yellowing,  and  growing  rich  in  locked  chests,  worn 
only  on  state  occasions,  and  now  brought  forth  to 
make  a  bull's  holiday. 

We  spent  a  good  deal  of  the  waiting  time  in  scruti- 


260     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

nizing  the  packed  seats  for  beautiful  women,  and,  I 
am  sorry  to  say,  with  hardly  a  reward  adequate  to  our 
anxiety.  I  am  not  sure  how  much  the  beauty  of  the 
women  of  Seville  is  traditional.  They  have  good 
points.  Graceful  figures  are  not  uncommon,  and  fine 
teeth ;  and  dark,  liquid,  large  eyes,  which  they  use 
perpetually  in  oeillades  destructive  to  peace  and  secu- 
rity. And  the  fan,  the  most  deadly  weapon  of  co- 
quetry, gives  the  coup  de  grdce  to  those  whom  the  eyes 
have  wounded.  But  the  Seville  women  have  usually 
sallow,  pasty,  dead  complexions.  Perhaps  the  beauty 
of  the  skin  is  destroyed  by  cosmetics,  for  there  was 
not  a  lady  at  the  bull-fight  who  was  not  highly  rouged 
and  powdered.  This  gave  an  artificiality  to  their  ap- 
pearance en  masse.  Beauty  of  feature  was  very  rare, 
and  still  rarer  was  that  animation,  that  stamp  of  indi- 
vidual character,  loveliness  in  the  play  of  expression, 
and  sprightliness,  that  charm  in  any  assembly  of 
American  women.  No,  the  handsome  women  in  the 
ring  were  not  numerous  enough  to  make  any  impres- 
sion on  the  general  mass,  and  yet  the  total  effect,  with 
the  blonde  lace,  the  artificial  color,  the  rich  toilet,  and 
the  agitation  of  fans,  was  charming.  The  fan  is  the 
feature  of  Spanish  life.  It  is,  I  believe,  a  well-known 
physiological  fact  that  every  Si^anish  girl  is  born  with 
a  fan  in  her  hand.  She  learns  to  use  it  with  effect  be- 
fore she  can  say  "  mamma."  By  the  time  she  receives 
her  first  communion,  it  has  become  a  fatal  weapon  in 
her  hands,  capable  of  expressing  every  shade  of  feel- 
ing, hope,  tantalization.     But  ordinarily  its  use  is  ex- 


THE  DULL-FIGHT.  261 

cessively  monotonous.  It  has,  in  fact,  only  three  mo- 
tions. It  is  opened  with  a  languid  backward  flirt,  it 
is  moved  twice  gently  to  stir  the  air,  it  is  closed  with 
a  slow,  forward  action,  and  then  the  same  process  is 
exactly  repeated,  —  open,  two  movements  of  fanning, 
shut ;  open,  fan,  shut,  — horn*  after  hour,  until  the  be- 
holder is  driven  half  wild  by  the  monotony  of  the  per- 
formance. It  is  such  a  relief  when  there  are  three 
fanning  movements  between  the  opening  and  the  shut- 
ting. In  a  public  drawing-room,  in  the  cars,  in  the 
street,  in  the  bidl-ring,  this  is  the  everlasting  iteration 
of  the  fan.  The  effect  produced  when  three  thou- 
sand women  are  executing  the  monotonous  manoeuvre 
is  exasperating.  When  the  lady  is  in  an  attitude  of 
mental  and  physical  repose  there  is  only  this  mechan- 
ical motion.  When  she  is  in  conversation,  and  has  an 
object,  the  fan  has  a  hundred  movements  and  vari- 
eties of  expression,  as  the  victim  learns  to  his  cost. 

But  let  us  not  forget  that  this  is  a  bull-fight,  and 
the  bull  is  probably  waiting.  The  attention  of  the 
rustling,  chattering,  fanning  audience  is  suddenly  fixed 
upon  the  arena  gate,  which  at  the  sound  of  a  trumpet 
swings  open  to  admit  the  procession  of  performers,  — 
\hQ incadores  on  horseback,  the  chiilos  or  handerilleros, 
and  matador  on  foot,  and  a  gayly  caparisoned  team  of 
mules  with  a  drag  of  chains  for  removing  the  dead  an- 
imals. We  need  not  detain  ourselves  here  with  the 
details  which  will  be  necessary  when  we  come  to  en- 
gage in  a  serious  affair.  The  performers  are  all  gen- 
tlemen, clad  in  the  fantastic  dress  of  the  professionals. 


262     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

The  procession  makes  the  round  of  the  arena  under  a 
shower  of  hand-clapping,  sahites  the  president  and  the 
bevy  of  ladies  in  the  central  balcony,  and  withdraws, 
leaving  only  the  j^^cadores,  or  spearmen,  and  attend- 
ants in  possession  of  the  field  of  honor. 

The  trumpet  sounds  a  second  time,  and  the  door  of 
the  toril,  the  dark  cage  on  wheels  in  which  the  bull  is 
confined,  is  opened,  and  the  bull  rushes  out.  He  is 
also  an  amateur,  a  two-year-old,  of  good  lineage  like 
his  tormentors,  but  of  imjoerf ect  development.  He  has 
been  exasperated  by  confinement  in  a  dark  box,  and 
pricked  into  a  rage  by  an  ornamental  rosette  of  rib- 
bons, which  is  fastened  between  his  shoulders  by 
spikes  that  have  dra%vn  blood.  Astonished  at  first  by 
the  glare  of  light  and  the  noisy  welcome  of  the  assem- 
bly, he  stands  a  moment  confused,  and  then  runs  about 
the  arena  looking  for  some  place  of  escape.  He  is  a 
compact,  clean-built,  intrepid  little  fellow,  and  prob- 
ably does  not  at  first  comprehend  that  this  is  a  duel 
for  life,  without  a  single  chance  for  himself.  He  does 
not  yet  know  that  he  is  to  be  stabbed  and  pricked  and 
baited  for  an  hour  for  the  amusement  of  these  gra- 
cious, applauding  ladies,  and  then  butchered,  to  give 
them  a  holiday  sensation.  He  does  not  know  how  un- 
equal the  fight  is  to  be,  until  he  learns  by  experience 
that  he  is  deprived  of  his  natural  weapon  of  attack ; 
but  we  feel  a  pity  for  him  in  advance,  as  we  notice 
that  the  points  of  his  horns  have  been  sawn  off,  so  that 
their  thrusts  will  be  harmless.  After  a  circuit  or  two, 
he  becomes  aware  that  he  is  among  enemies,  and  see- 


THE  BULL-FIGHT.  263 

■• 

ing  the  picadores  advancing  and  menacing  him  with 
their  spears,  he  makes  a  rush  at  one  o£  them.     The 
clumsy  rider  attempts  a  spear-thrust,  but  the  bull  dis- 
regards that  and  gets  in  under  the  flank  of  the  horse 
and  attempts  to  gore  him.     Alas,  the  blunt  horns  will 
not  gore ;   the  blinded  beast  is  lifted  a  little  off  his 
hind  legs  by  sheer  force  of  the  plucky  little  fighter, 
and  then  the  bull  tiu-ns  away  in  disg-ust,  pursued  by 
the  courageous  pkadoi^es.      Again   and   again  he  is 
nagged  and   pricked  into  a  charge,  but  always  with 
the  same  result.     This  sort  of  thing  goes  on  till  both 
the  bull  and  the  spectators  are  weary  of  it,  and  then 
the  trmnpet  sounds  and  the  merry  cJndos  enter  to  as- 
sist the  incadores  in  further  worrying  the  bull.     These 
lio;ht-clad  skirmishers  bear  darts  and  long  red  cloaks. 
They  surround    the  puzzled   bidl    and  torment   him, 
shake  their  aggravating  red   cloaks  in  his  face,  and 
when  he  rushes  at  one  of  them,  the  athlete  springs 
lightly  aside  and  lets  him  toss  the  garment ;  or,  if  he 
pursues  too  closely,  the  man  runs  to  the  barrier  and 
escapes  through  one  of   the    many  narrow  openings. 
When  this  sport  has  continued  some  time,  the  hande- 
rilleros  come  into  play.    One  of  them  advances  with  a 
long   barbed  arrow  in  each  hand,  holding  it  by  the 
feathered  end  of  the  shaft.     The  little  bull  looks  at 
him,  standing  still  and  wondering  what  new  sort  of 
enemy  this  is.     The  man,  with  watchful  eye,  comes 
nearer,  in  fact,  close  to  him ;  the  bull  lowers  his  head 
and   concludes  to  try  a  charge,  but  he   has  scarcely 
taken  two  steps  when  the  handerdlero  plants  the  two 


264     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

cruel  arrows  on  the  top  of  liis  slioulders  and  springs 
lio-litly  aside.  The  bull  passes  with  the  weapons  stick- 
ing into  his  flesh,  loosely  swaymg,  and  aggravating 
him,  and  the  blood  flows  down  his  shoidders.  The 
crowd  applaud  the  gallant  young  gentleman.  This 
operation  is  repeated  by  a  second  handerillero^  and 
when  this  sort  of  baiting  ceases  to  be  any  longer 
amusing,  the  trumpet  sounds  again. 

This  is  for  the  last  act  in  this  noble  drama.  The 
picadores  withdraw,  the  arena  is  occupied  by  the  skir- 
mishing chulos.  At  a  blast  of  the  trumpet  the  mata- 
dor enters,  advances  to  the  central  balcony,  makes  an 
address,  receives  permission  to  dispatch  the  little  beast, 
throws  his  cap  over  the  barrier,  and  advances  to  his 
w^ork.  He  carries  in  the  left  hand  a  small  scarlet  flag, 
and  in  the  other,  a  long,  slender  Toledo  blade.  He 
must  kill  the  bull,  but  in  only  one  way.  The  sword 
must  enter  in  the  back  part  of  the  neck  just  between 
the  shoulder-blades,  so  as  to  pierce  the  heart.  The 
blow  must  consequently  be  delivered  when  the  bull 
is  charging,  head  down.  It  requires  a  quick  eye,  a 
steady  hand,  and  unshaken  nerves  to  plant  the  sword 
exactly  in  this  spot.  The  matador  advances  warily 
to  play  with  the  bull  and  study  his  nature  ;  his  assist- 
ants group  themselves  about  at  his  command,  to  goad 
the  bull  into  action  by  shaking  their  cloaks,  or  to  pro- 
tect the  matador  if  the  latter  is  hard  pressed.  The 
little  bull  is  tired  and  bloody  and  hot,  and  has  had 
enough  of  it.  But  the  matador  is  tantalizing,  the 
scarlet  banner  is  irritating,  the  chulos  are  exasperat- 


THE  BULL-FIGHT.  265 

ing-.     After  much  irresolution,  and  turning  his  eyes  to 
one  tormentor  and  another,  he  decides  to  pay  his  at- 
tention to  the  man  with  the  sword.     He  makes  a  rush 
at  the  red  banner ;  it  flirts  in  his  face ;  the  matador 
steps  aside,  and  as  he  does  so  makes  a  thrust.     The 
sword  enters  the  beast  only  an  inch  or  two,  and  in 
the  wrong  place.     The  buU  canters  away  to  the  other 
side  of  the  arena  to  get  rid  of  his  tormentors.     They 
follow  him  and  bait  him.     He  turns  again  upon  his 
cool  pursuer.     This  time  the  sword  is  thrust  into  his 
neck  and  sticks  there,  while  the  bull  runs  and  bellows 
at  the  hurt  until  he  shakes  out  the  weapon.     The  mat- 
ador recovers  it,  and  the  sport  continues.     There  is 
nothing  very  exciting  about  it,  but  the  crowd  appar- 
ently enjoy  the  torture  of  the  animal.     The  matador 
is  cool ;  he  is  practicing  a  noble  art.     After  long  ma- 
noeuvring and  feinting  and  false  thrusting,  he  plants 
his  sword  in  the  fatal  spot.     The  bull  stops  in  his  ca- 
reer, astonished.     An  attendant  runs  up  and   drives 
the  sword  in  by  a  blow  on  the  hilt ;  the  bull  falls  on 
his  knees,  and  "  the  arena  swims  around  him."     He 
tumbles  over;   the  mule  team  gallops  in   and   drags 
away  his  carcass ;   the   hero  advances  to  the  central 
balcony  and   receives  a  tempest  of  applause  and  a 
shower  of  bouquets.     He  has  done  what  man  can  do 
in  this  land  of  romance  to  commend  himself  to  the- 
favors  of  the  gentler  sex.     Two  other  bidls  are  slain 
with  exactly  the  same  prolonged  and  ceremonious  tor- 
ture, and  then  the  arena  is  cleared  for  another  sort  oi 
performance. 


266     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY, 

Meantime,  the  fans  flutter  with  a  new  meaning,  the 
chatter  is  continuous,  the  brilliant  behavior  of  the  per- 
formers is  discussed  with  earnestness,  and  boys  make 
their  way  up  and  along  the  tiers  of  seats  with  great 
trays  of  costly  and  toothsome  bon-bons  and  sweet- 
meats, which  are  gratuitously  distributed  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  club. 

The  next  performance  is  by  the  gentlemen  riders. 
Sixteen  of  them,  superbly  mounted,  in  morning  cos- 
tume, with  tall  hats,  enter  the  ring  and  begin  a  series 
of  pleasing  evolutions.  The  performance  has  not  the 
dash  and  danger  of  an  Arab  jcreed  nor  the  break-neck 
pace  and  skill  of  some  of  our  Western  and  Indian 
horsemen,  but  it  is  better  than  most  of  the  riding  in 
our  best  circuses  with  trained  horses,  and  is  altogether 
a  pleasing  sight.  The  riders  sit  and  manage  their 
spirited  horses  perfectly,  and  their  complicated  evolu- 
tions, like  the  mazes  of  a  dance,  in  time  to  the  music 
of  the  band,  are  a  charming  exhibition  of  grace  and 
skiU. 

This  was  followed  by  riding  at  the  scarf.  On  a 
projecting  arm  in  front  of  the  president's  stand  were 
rolls  of  colored  scarfs,  the  end  of  each  roll  hanging 
down  with  its  fringe  about  six  inches.  The  scarfs  of 
blue,  red,  white,  yellow,  and  gi^een  had  been  embroid- 
ered by  the  fair  hands  that  were  applauding  the  horse- 
men, and  the  capture  of  these  was  the  prize  of  the  rid- 
ers. Each  horseman  carried  a  long  wooden  lance 
with  a  sharp  point.  They  were  drawn  up  in  line  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  arena.     At  a  signal  one  ad- 


THE  BULL-FIGHT.  267 

vancecl,  and  put  his  horse  into  a  gallop  around  the  cir- 
cle ;  as  he  neared  the  balcony,  the  pace  increased  to  a 
dead  run.  Just  before  the  rider  passed  under  the  roll 
of  scarfs  he  raised  his  lance  and  thrust  it  at  the  six 
inches  square  of  hanging  silk.  He  had  to  estimate 
the  height,  to  calculate  exactly  the  distance  from  the 
balcony,  and  to  hit  this  small  object  exactly  while 
guiding  his  fiery  horse  at  a  prodigious  pace.  If  the 
point  of  the  lance  caught  the  silk,  the  scarf  unrolled 
and  fluttered  down,  and  another  one  was  ready  for  the 
next  trial.  Opposite  the  balcony,  by  the  side  of  the 
track,  on  a  stand  about  eighteen  inches  high,  lay  a  bou- 
quet. When  the  rider  had  essayed  at  the  scarf,  he 
threw  down  his  lance  and,  with  the  horse  still  at  full 
speed,  leaned  from  his  saddle  and  attempted  to  snatch 
the  bouquet.  I  could  see  how  the  riders  could  very 
well  spear  the  silk  and  catch  the  flowers ;  but  how,  in 
all  this  excitement,  with  a  plunging  horse,  they  could 
keep  on  their  tall  hats,  was  a  mystery  to  me.  There 
were  many  rounds  made  without  capturing  a  scarf. 
Whenever  one  was  caught  dowTi,  a  footman  picked  it 
up  and  carried  it  to  the  winner,  who  decorated  him- 
self with  it  by  passing  it  over  his  right  shoulder  and 
knotting  it  on  liis  left  hip.  In  time,  the  successful 
competitors  presented  a  gay  appearance,  with  scarfs 
of  many  colors.  The  game  went  on  for  nearly  two 
hours,  and  almost  at  the  last  there  were  some  unfor- 
tunate riders  who  had  no  scarf,  while  others  were  orna- 
mented with  a  dozen  of  these  tokens  of  affection.  I 
fancied  there  were  some  heart-aches  in  the  galleries  on 


268     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

seeing  so  many  of  the  embroidered  decorations  go  to 
the  wrong  men.  But  the  supply  held  out,  and  when 
the  trial  was  over  every  gallant  had  at  least  one.  No 
doubt  it  was  a  happy  night  for  the  heroes  who  wore  a 
dozen.  But  what  their  social  rank  would  be,  in  com- 
parison with  the  swordsman  who  killed  the  amateur 
bull,  I  cannot  say. 

The  high  and  almost  sacred  rank  the  bull-fight  holds 
in  Spain  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  all  the 
important  spectacles  are  on  Sunday.  As  the  great 
funciones  had  already  taken  place  during  the  Easter 
holidays  in  Seville,  we  were  obliged  to  go  to  Jerez  on 
the  thirtieth  of  April  in  order  to  witness  a  real  engage- 
ment. Every  town  in  Spain  of  any  size  has  a  large 
bidl-ring,  whatever  other  public  buildings  it  may  lack ; 
and  the  erection  of  new  ones  recently  proves  that  the 
sport  has  not  declined  in  popular  estimation,  although 
a  few  fastidious  persons  are  beginning  to  regard  it  as 
a  barbarous  and  unseemly  usage.  And  during  some 
portion  of  the  year,  usually  during  the  local  fair,  or 
on  some  liigh  fete  of  the  Church,  there  is  in  every 
bull-ring  in  the  kingdom  a  great  funcion.  There  are 
a  few  bull-fighters  who  have  a  national  reputation, 
whose  services  are  always  in  demand,  and  the  local 
fights  have  to  be  postponed  till  one  or  more  of  them 
can  be  secured.  Although  it  is  said  that  the  profes- 
sional bull-fighter  is  very  low  caste  in  Spain,  I  think 
no  one,  not  even  the  military  hero,  enjoys  so  much  con- 
sideration with  the  masses  as  the  successful  and  skill- 
ful matador  of  the  ring.     They  are  followed  by  the 


THE  BULL-FIGHT.  269 

boys,  they  are  the  admiration  of  the  rabble,  they  are 
smiled  on  by  the  gentle  ladies  in  the  boxes,  they  are 
dined  by  the  local  governors,  and  they  move  about  in 
their  own  social  circles  with  the  port  of  conquerors  who 
subdue  hearts  as  easily  as  they  slay  bulls. 

There  are  very  few  who  attain  great  eminence  in 
their  profession,  never  more  than  three  or  four  at  a 
time  in  the  whole  kingdom  ;  but  for  them  there  is 
profit  as  well  as  honor.  These  great  men  are  the  au- 
tocrats of  the  ring  when  they  enter  it.  Each  one  has 
his  own  train  of  followers,  chulos  and  handerilleros^ 
who  accompany  liim  in  his  circuit  of  engagements,  and 
who  are  paid  as  he  dictates.  A  great  favorite  receives 
a  thousand  dollars  for  a  fight,  and  as  he  is  crowded 
with  engagements  during  the  whole  spring,  summer, 
and  autumn,  he  reaps  a  good  harvest.  Two  fighters 
whom  I  saw,  one  of  Seville  and  one  of  Granada,  had 
accumulated  large  fortunes,  owned  many  houses,  and 
lived  in  considerable,  showy  ostentation.  Bull-fights 
are  very  expensive  entertainments,  costing  usually  two 
thonsand  dollars  and  more,  and  the  prices  of  admis- 
sion are  high  compared  with  the  wages  paid  in  Spain ; 
the  artists  must  be  well  paid,  and  the  animals  cost 
much  to  breed.  But  there  is  no  difficulty  in  filling  a 
ring  anywhere,  for  the  fight  is  a  passion  with  the  peo- 
ple ;  children  are  taken  early  to  the  arena,  and  bred 
to  love  it  —  their  common  game  is  a  "bull-fight;" 
and  all  Spaniards  love  to  see  a  bull  slain,  for  they 
seem  to  have  an  unconquerable  hatred  of  the  animal, 
and  never,  I  am  told,  see  one  in  the  field  without  at- 


270     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

tempting  to  irritate  and  insult  liim.  Of  the  bulls 
that  are  bred  for  this  pastime,  only  the  noblest  and 
fiercest  are  fit  for  the  arena,  and  the  breeders  have 
methods  of  testing  their  courage  and  mettle.  The  lov- 
ers of  the  sport  always  post  themselves  as  to  the  char- 
acter of  the  bulls  who  are  to  perform,  and  the  reputa- 
tion of  the  fighting  quality  of  the  forthcoming  bulls  is 
an  attraction  only  second  to  that  of  the  famous  artists 
who  are  to  meet  them  in  the  arena ;  and  the  latter  are 
esteemed  as  great  actors  are  with  us. 

It  was  fair  and  horse-race  week  at  Jerez,  and  the 
little  "  sherry  "  city  was  crowded  with  visitors.  The 
culminating  interest  was  in  the  bull-baiting  on  Sunday 
afternoon,  and  when  we  found  our  way  to  our  seats  in 
the  vast  edifice,  at  half-past  three,  it  was  already 
packed  from  the  barrier-ring  to  the  top  of  the  walls. 
And  such  an  assembly !  I  doubt  if  a  Roman  circus 
could  ever  have  shown  a  more  brutal  one.  Very  few 
women  were  present,  though  there  were  'many  chil- 
dren ;  and  there  was  a  sprinkling  of  ladies  in  white 
mantillas  in  the  grand  balcony,  where  the  town  offi- 
cials were  seated.  These  functionaries  had  the  air  of 
the  judges  and  important  personages  on  the  stand  at 
an  American  horse-trot  funcion.  The  occasion  had 
been  anticipated  with  gi-eat  eagerness,  because  the 
bulls  were  from  a  famous  Andalusian  herd,  and  two 
fighters  with  a  national  reputation  were  to  officiate : 
Antonio  Carmona,  called  "  El  Gordito,"  of  Seville, 
and  Salvador  Sanchez,  called  "  Frascuelo,"  of  Gra- 
nada.    These  men  are  both  in  the  first  class  of  the 


THE  BULL-FIGHT.  271 

brotlierhood,  although  two  of  the  Madrid  fighters  are 
their  acknowledged  superiors. 

I  had  imagined  that  a  bull-fight,  with  all  its  cruelty 
and  much  to  disgust,  must  be  an  exciting  and  gallant 
spectacle.  I  saw,  in  my  mind,  the  trained  spearmen 
on  horseback  dashing  in  full  gallop  at  the  bull,  dex- 
terously evading  his  enraged  rush,  and  flying  and 
charging  about  the  arena,  alternately  pursuing  and 
pursued.  I  saw  the  bull,  always  alert  and  bellicose, 
charging  the  footmen,  who  pricked  and  baited  and  en- 
raged him  with  their  scarlet  mantles,  who  put  their 
lives  against  his  in  a  closed  arena,  and  only  saved 
themselves  by  the  utmost  address  and  skill.  I  had 
imagined,  in  short,  a  chivalrous  performance. 

We  had  not  long  to  wait.  The  gate  swung  open, 
and  the  bull-fighting  company  entered  in  what  was 
meant  to  be  a  gorgeous  procession.  It  had  the  cheap 
elements  of  a  spectacular  effect  in  a  sawdust  arena. 
The  costumes,  at  least,  were  showy  in  spangles  and  in 
divers  colors,  as  in  the  "  grande  entree "  of  a  circus, 
and  some  of  them  were  rich ;  and  scarlet  cloaks  and 
swords  and  plumes  and  the  courtly,  high-stepping 
march  of  the  fighters  imitated,  I  supposed,  the  open- 
ing of  a  mediaeval  tournament.  First  came  four  lyica- 
dores.  These  men  wore  broad-brimmed  Thessalian 
hats  and  carried  long  spears ;  their  bodies  were  thickly 
padded,  their  legs  incased  in  iron  and  leather,  the 
right  one  being  most  protected;  they  were  rusty  in 
appearance,  and  so  incumbered  were  they  with  armor 
and  wadding  that   they  sat  their  horses  insecurely. 


272      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

The  poor  beasts  they  rode  were  worthy  of  the  occa- 
sion, thin  Rosinantes,  old,  knock-kneed,  stiff-legged, 
who  stumbled  along  and  with  difficulty  could  be  urged 
out  of  a  walk.  They  were  blindfolded.  They  would 
be  dear  purchases  at  two  dollars  and  a  half  a  head. 
When  you  speak  to  a  Spaniard  of  the  cruelty  of  tor- 
turing such  poor  beasts,  he  says,  "  Why,  they  are 
worth  nothing !  "  These  were  followed  by  a  band 
of  foot-fighters,  comely  fellows  in  spangled  jackets, 
plumed  caps,  waist  sashes,  short  breeches,  and  stock- 
ings, bearing  on  the  left  arm  red  mantles.  After  them 
walked  the  two  matadores  en  grande  tenue^  with  con- 
scious pride,  and  the  procession  closed  with  a  team 
of  six  gaudily  caparisoned  mules.  The  procession 
marched  up  to  the  judges'  stand  and  saluted;  the 
president  threw  down  the  key  of  the  ton7,  or  bull-cell, 
to  an  attendant  policeman,  the  round  of  the  arena  was 
made  amid  the  roar  of  nine  thousand  spectators,  and 
all  passed  out  except  the  incadores  and  half  a  dozen 
of  the  footmen. 

And  now  came  the  first  moment  of  intense  anxiety, 
the  awaiting  of  the  appearance  of  the  bull.  Would  he 
be  game  or  indifferent  ?  would  he  be  boldly  savage  or 
slyly  murderous,  a  dangerous  customer  or  a  coward  ? 
Pending  this  issue,  however,  I  was  aware  of  a  rising 
tumult  on  the  opposite  benches,  an  angry  sort  of  roar 
and  grumble  that  spread  speedily  over  the  whole 
house  except  in  our  immediate  vicinity  near  the  grand 
balcony ;  men  rose  gesticulating  and  sputtering  wildly, 
an'd  pointing  in  our  direction,  until  nearly  everybody 


THE  BULL-FIGHT.  273 

was  standing  on  the  benclies,  half  of  tliem  not  compre- 
hending what  the  matter  was,  and  eager  to  see,  but  all 
roaring  in  tones  that  had  no  good-nature  in  them. 
"  They  are  all  looking  at  you,"  said  my  companion ; 
"  I  think  it  must  be  your  hat."  I  was  wearing,  for 
protection  against  the  sun,  an  India  pith  helmet,  com- 
mon enough  all  along  the  Mediterranean,  but  for  some 
reason  apparently  offensive  to  these  courteous  provin- 
cials. The  whole  arena  rose  at  me.  It  was  some  sec- 
onds before  I  could  comprehend  that  I  was  the  centre 
of  such  polite  attention.  The  hubbub  increased  ;  men 
shook  their  fists  and  howled,  and  began  to  move  as  if 
they  would  climb  up  to  our  tier.  They  demanded 
something  most  vehemently,  but  whether  it  was  my 
head  or  my  hat  I  could  not  teU.  I  did  not,  however, 
rise  to  acknowledge  the  honor,  but  sat  smiling,  much 
as  I  suppose  the  matador  smiles  when  the  buU  is 
about  to  charge  him  ;  and  when  the  tumult  was  at  its 
height  there  was  a  cry.  El  toro  I  El  toro  I "  and  the 
crowd  turned  to  a  greater  attraction. 

The  bull  was  in  the  ring.  He  was  a  noble  aniinal, 
dun  in  color,  handsomely  marked,  thin  flanks,  power- 
ful shoulders,  high-bred  head  with  dilating  nostrils, 
large,  glaring  eyes,  and  symmetrical  polished  horns. 
Affixed  to  the  back  of  his  neck  was  the  variegated 
rosette,  and  blood  trickled  down  his  shoulders.  He 
stood  for  a  moment  facing  the  nine  thousand  enemies 
who  roared  at  him,  and  then  dashed  around  the  ring, 
head  erect  and  lashing  his  tail,  with  blood  and  defi- 
ance in  his  eye.     The  chulos  sought  cover,  and  the 

18 


274      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

picadores  stood  still,  awaiting  liis  attention.  After 
his  first  course,  the  bull  stood  for  a  moment  pawing 
the  ground  and  bellowing,  and  then,  catching  sight  of 
one  of  the  weak,  blindfolded  horses,  whose  rider  was 
uro^ino-  him  forward,  he  advanced  to  the  attack,  though 
not  with  any  rush.  As  he  came  near,  the  incador,  who 
was  swaying  clumsily  on  his  horse,  made  a  thrust  at 
the  bull  with  his  spear  and  slightly  turned  his  horse's 
head  to  the  left.  The  horse  stood  still,  and  the  bull 
inserted  his  horns  under  the  animal's  flank,  slightly 
raising  him  from  the  ground.  The  footmen  ran  to  the 
rescue  with  their  distracting  mantles,  and  the  bull 
turned  in  pursuit  of  them.  They  nimbly  skipped  be- 
hind the  shelters  that  are  erected  every  few  paces  in 
the  barrier,  and  the  horse  got  away  with  his  entrails 
trailing  on  the  ground,  his  rider  trying  to  spur  him 
into  a  gallop.  The  crowd  roared  in  great  delight. 
The  horse  was  good  for  sport  as  long  as  he  coidd 
stand.  (When  the  horse  is  not  too  weak  to  keep  his 
feet,  the  wound  is  sewed  up,  that  he  may  be  gored 
ag'ain:  for  seeinsf  the  horses  tortured  is  one  of  the 
chief  delights  of  the  ring.)  After  a  brief  interval,  the 
bull  was  excited  to  attack  another  horse.  This  time 
the  horse  was  lifted  from  the  ground  and  thrown  on 
his  side,  the  man  under  him,  and  the  bull  drew  back 
to  give  him  a  finishing  stroke.  The  attendants  again 
rushed  in,  distracted  the  attention  of  the  bull,  pulled 
the  man  from  under  the  horse,  got  the  horse  up,  lifted 
the  picador  to  his  feet  (for  incumbered  as  he  was 
with  armor  and  wadding  he  could  not  rise),  and  put 


THE  BULL-FIGHT.  275 

him  on  tlie  horse  again.  The  bull,  still  full  of  fight, 
wheeled  about  in  a  rage  at  losing  his  assailants,  who 
had  quickly  stepped  behind  their  shelter,  and  ad- 
vanced threateningly  toward  another  horse.  The  ^^ico- 
dor  walked  his  horse  to  meet  him.  The  same  clumsy 
manceuvres  occurred  as  before.  But  this  time  the  bull 
not  only  overthrew  the  horse,  but  gored  him  severely, 
and  then  attacked  the  prostrate  rider.  The  footmen 
rushed  in  just  in  time  to  save  the  man  from  being 
tossed.  The  horse  lay  dead,  and  the  man  was  carried 
out  of  the  ring.  It  was  considered  by  this  time  a 
lively  fight,  and  the  picadores  were  recnforced  by  two 
more  horsemen.  The  next  horse  assailed  was  gored  so 
badly  that,  although  he  escaped,  he  was  in  a  shocking 
condition  ;  and  after  his  cruel  rider  had  spurred  him 
a  couple  of  times  around  the  ring,  he  collapsed.  The 
bull  continued  raging  about,  stopping  occasionally  to 
gore  and  toss  the  dead  horses  or  chase  the  aggravating 
cindos  to  cover,  and  then  sullenly  advancing  and  rip- 
ping open  another  of  the  blindfolded  steeds.  When 
the  trumpet  sounded,  he  had  virtually  cleared  the 
ring,  and  roamed  around,  its  master.  Six  horses  lay 
dead  or  dying  in  the  sand. 

In  the  second  act  the  cJmlos  and  banderiUeros  had 
the  field,  to  torture  and  bait  the  noble  fighter,  who  was 
getting  a  little  weakened  by  his  extraordinary  efforts, 
but  still  seemed  to  think  he  had  a  chance  for  his  life. 
These  fellows  are  light  and  nimble,  costumed  exactly 
like  Figaro,  in  the  "  Barber's  "  opera,  and  skip  about 
the  arena  with  considerable  agility.     Their  office  is  to 


276      NOTES   OF  A    ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

tease  the  bull,  to  run  toward  liim  and  aggravate  lilm 
by  shaking  their  colored  mantles  in  his  face,  to  dis- 
tract him  to  pursue  first  one  and  then  another,  and  to 
elude  him,  when  they  are  hard  pressed,  by.  dodging 
behind  the  shelters.  The  only  danger  they  run  is  in 
slipping  on  the  sod  when  the  bull  is  in  pursuit.  After 
this  game  had  gone  on  for  some  time,  a  handerillero 
stepped  forward  with  a  barbed  arrow  in  each  hand 
and  faced  the  bull.  His  object  was  to  plant  an  arrow 
in  each  shoulder.  The  two  looked  at  each  other 
warily.  The  bull  was  studying  how  he  could  kill  the 
man.  He  pawed  the  ground,  he  lowered  his  head,  and 
made  a  dash ;  the  handerillero  planted  the  arrows  ex- 
actly in  the  shoulders,  and  skipped  aside,  just  avoid- 
ing the  points  of  the  sharp  horns.  It  was  very  neatly 
done ;  and  the  bull  went  roaring  around  the  arena, 
bleeding  and  trying  to  shake  himself  free  from  the 
stinging  barbs.  This  operation,  after  two  or  three 
failures,  was  repeated  by  another  handerillero,  and 
the  bull  was  further  dispirited  by  nagging  until  it  was 
deemed  time  to  kill  him.  The  trumpet  sounded  for 
the  third  and  last  act. 

Frascuelo  entered.  He  was  not  by  any  means  a 
bad-looking  fellow,  and,  physically,  he  deserved  a  good 
deal  of  credit.  He  advanced  straight  across  the  arena 
with  the  lordly  strut  of  a  great  man,  conscious  of  his 
merit  and  of  deserving  the  thunderous  applause  that 
greeted  him,  to  the  president's  box.  There  he  made  a 
grandiloquent  speech,  signifying  his  willingness  to  rid 
the  earth  of  that  pestilent  bull.     Permission  was  gra- 


THE  BULL-FIGHT.  277 

ciously  accorded :  we  are  notliing  liere  if  not  courtly. 
Frascuelo  pledged  himself  to  do  his  duty,  tossed  bis 
plumed  hat  over  the  barrier,  and  turned  and  addressed 
himself  to  the  work.  The  bull  had  been  meantime 
patiently  waiting  for  the  oratorical  part  of  the  per- 
formance to  finish,  and  evidently  not  caring  particu- 
larly for  any  more  fighting  that  day. 

Frascuelo  carried  in  his  right  hand  a  long  Toledo 
blade  :  in  his  left,  a  scarlet  mantle  a  yard  square.  He 
wore  a  small  wig  of  black  hair,  with  a  sort  of  chignon 
on  the  back  of  the  head,  and  a  short  cue.  His  jacket 
and  breeches  were  of  light  olive-green  velvet.  The 
open  jacket  and  the  front  of  his  thighs  were  thickly 
crusted  with  silver  spangles.  His  waist  was  girt  with 
a  red  sash  ;  his  long  stockings  were  pink,  and  his 
shoes  were  black.  He  was  a  cool-eyed,  steady-nerved, 
well-made  fellow,  and  he  presented  a  pretty  appear- 
ance as  he  advanced  to  his  duel  with  the  bull.  His 
attendants,  with  the  mantles,  were  disposed  near  at 
hand  and  under  his  orders,  to  excite  the  bull  to  the 
combat  and  to  rescue  the  matador  in  case  of  extreme 
peril. 

The  two  stood  face  to  face  ;  the  man  fresh  and  cool, 
the  bull  enraged,  but  weakened  by  the  running  and 
the  nagging  and  loss  of  blood.  The  only  stroke  the 
matador  is  allowed  to  deliver  is  between  the  shoul- 
ders ;  in  order  to  kill,  he  must  pass  the  sword  down 
close  to  the  shoulder-blade  into  the  heart.  In  order  to 
reach  this  spot,  the  bull  must  have  his  head  down,  and 
consecpently  be  charging.     The  combatants  eye  each 


278      NOTES  OF  A    ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

other.     Frascuelo  shakes  the  scarlet  before  the  bull's 
eyes.     The  bull  paws  the  ground  and  looks  wicked, 
but  distrustful  of  the  blade.     Frascuelo  comes  nearer, 
never  for  a  second  losing  the  bull's  eye.     He  insults 
him  with  the  scarlet.     The  bull  dashes  at  it.     Frascu- 
elo delivers  a  stroke  as  the  bull  comes  on,  flirts  the 
banner    in   his    eyes,  and    steps    aside.     The   bidl   is 
wounded,  but  not  in  the  vital  spot,  and  speedily  turns 
and  faces  his  foe.     Frascuelo  coolly  wipes  the  blade' 
on  the  silk  in  his  hand,  and  is  ready  for  another  turn. 
The  same  wary  manoeuvres  follow,  with  the  same  re- 
sult.    Then  a  longer  period  of  skirmishing  follows,  in 
which  the  attendants  again  nag  and  torment  the  now 
distracted  and  reluctant  animal.     In  the  third  round, 
Frascuelo  plants  his  sword  in  the  right  spot,  half  way 
to  the  hilt.     The  crowd  rise  and  roar  with  delight. 
The  bull   goes  bellowing  around  the   arena  in  pain, 
blood  running  from  his  mouth.    As  he  passes  near  the 
barrier,  the  spectators  lean  over  and,  with  one  blow 
after  another,  thrust  the  sword  in  to  the  hilt.     The 
bull  falls  on  his  knees  and  is  done  for.     Frascuelo, 
still  cool,  gracious,  dignified,  advances  to  the  grand 
balcony.     He  is  greeted  with  a  hurricane  of  hurrahs, 
and   a   shower   of  hats  is   thrown  at   him  from  the 
benches.     These  hats  are  not,  however,  gifts.     Fras- 
cuelo goes  around  and  picks  each  one  up  and  restores 
it  to  its  owner.     Then  the  trumpet  sounds,  the  mule 
team  gallops  in  and  drags  away  the  bull  and  the  car- 
casses of  the  horses,  and  the  arena  is  ready  for  another 
fight.. 


THE  BULL-FIGHT.  279 

The  second  figlit  was  essentially  a  rei^etltion  of  tlie 
first,  only  this  buU  was  sullen  and  less  enterprising 
than  the  first  one,  though  equally  strong  and  dan- 
gerous. In  the  second  act  an  incident  occurred  that 
sent  a  delightful  thrill  of  horror  through  the  specta- 
tors for  a  moment.  One  of  the  chulos,  pursued  by 
the  bull,  fell,  and  the  brute's  horns  were  just  about 
entering  his  body,  when  Frascuelo,  who  was  in  the 
arena,  rushed  forward  with  incredible  swiftness  and 
address,  and,  blinding  the  bull  with  his  cloak,  diverted 
his  attention  and  saved  the  man's  life.  It  was  the 
cleverest  feat  of  the  day. 

The  matador  in  this  fight  was  El  Gordito,  a  man 
of  fame,  but  older  than  Frascuelo,  and  on  this  occa- 
sion he  appeared  to  be  a  very  clumsy  swordsman.  Al- 
though the  bull  was  much  fatigued  when  he  took  him, 
the  fight  was  intolerably  long.  El  Gordito  made  pass 
after  pass,  wounding  the  bull  repeatedly,  but  never  in 
the  right  spot.  Twice  he  lost  his  sword,  the  bull  car- 
rying it  away  in  his  neck,  and  it  was  recovered  and 
brought  to  the  matador  by  his  attendants.  Once  he 
thrust  it  so  deeply  into  the  shoulder  that  it  was  a 
long  time  before  it  was  pulled  out,  and  then  by  one  of 
the  spectators  leaning  over  the  barrier  when  the  bull 
was  sulking,  and  El  Gordito  had  to  be  furnished  with 
another  sword.  After  twenty  minutes  of  this  clumsy 
work  the  crowd  got  very  impatient,  and  did  what  is 
very  seldom  done  in  a  bull-ring  —  they  demanded  the 
life  of  the  bull.  The  signal  of  this  act  of  mercy  is 
the  waving  of  a  white  handlierchief.     Soon  the  whole 


280      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

arena  was  fluttering  with  these  flags  of  truce.  But 
the  president  would  not  heed  them.  He  probably  hes- 
itated to  disgrace  so  notorious  a  fighter.  The  farce 
went  on.  Again  and  again  the  crowd  rose,  waving 
handkerchiefs  and  demanding  that  the  bull  should  be 
let  go.  But  the  president  was  inexorable.  The  fight 
went  on,  intolerably  weary  and  monotonous.  At  the 
end  of  nearly  three  quarters  of  an  hour  El  Gordito 
succeeded  in  planting  his  weapon  in  the  right  spot, 
though  not  delivering  an  immediate  death-blow  ;  but 
the  bull,  after  some  hesitation,  sank  on  his  knees,  and 
an  attendant  crept  up  to  his  side  and  dispatched  him 
with  a  butcher-knife. 

We  assisted  at  the  killing  of  one  bull  more.  It  was 
always  the  same  thing.  Six  bulls  were  slaughtered 
that  day,  but  three  were  quite  enough  for  us.  I  do 
not  know  how  many  horses  bit  the  dust,  but  a  good 
many,  —  I  should  think  twenty-five  dollars'  worth,  in 
all.  Perhaps  I  should  have  got  used  to  the  cruelty, 
the  disgusting  sight  of  the  gored  horses,  and  the  cheap 
barbarity,  if  I  had  stayed  through  the  entire  perform- 
ance ;  but  I  could  not  longer  endure  the  weariness  and 
monotony  of  the  show,  the  tedious  skirmishing  be- 
tween bulls  that  needed  to  be  all  the  time  irritated  up 
to  the  fighting  point,  and  decrepit,  blindfolded  horses 
that  could  not  see  their  danger,  and  nimble  atliletes 
that  could  easily  skip  to  a  place  of  safety.  It  would 
have  been  something  like  fair  if  the  barriers  had  been 
closed  and  the  fighters  had  owed  their  escape  to  speed 
and  address.     One's  sympathy  went  always  with  the 


THE  BULL-FIGHT.  281 

tormented  bull,  whose  very  bravery  and  courage  in- 
sured his  death,  for  there  was  no  chance  for  him  from 
the  first  moment.  There  were  times  when  it  would 
have  been  a  relief  to  see  him  dispatch  one  of  his  tor- 
mentors. 

The  profoundest  impressions  left  with  one  were  of 
the  weary  monotony  of  the  show,  and  the  utter  tame- 
ness  and  cheapness  of  the  most  of  it,  and  the  char- 
acter of  the  spectators.  There  were  a  good  many 
children  in  the  crowd,  having  their  worst  passions 
cultivated  by  the  brutal  exhibition.  It  is  an  impor- 
tant part  of  the  national  education,  and  the  fruits  of  it 
are  plain  to  be  seen.  I  am  glad  to  record  that  a  little 
girl,  seated  near  us,  who  had  enjoyed  the  grand  entry 
and  the  excitement  of  the  scene,  was  quite  broken  up 
by  the  disgusting  details,  and  frequently  hid  her  face 
on  her  father's  shoulder,  crying  nervously  at  the  dis- 
tress of  the  poor  horses.  But  the  great,  roaring  crowd 
heartily  gloated  over  all  that  was  most  revolting. 
Long  after  we  left  the  arena  there  was  ringing  in  my 
ears  their  barbaric  clamor. 

We  went  out  from  the  blazing  light  and  tumult  of 
the  ring,  glad  to  escape  from  the  demoniac  perform- 
ance, and  sought  refuge  in  an  old  church  near  by,  to 
bathe  our  tired  eyes  and  bruised  nerves  in  its  cool- 
ness and  serenity.  Here,  at  least,  was  some  visible 
evidence  that  the  Christian  religion  has  still  a  foot- 
hold in  Spain. 

We  tried  to  console  ourselves  for  the  part  we  had 
taken  in  the  day's  sport  by  the  thought  that  we  had 


232     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

once  for  all  discharged  tlie  traveler's  duty  in  a  study 
of  the  great  national  pastime  —  the  pastime  that  roy- 
alty encourages  by  its  presence,  the  pastime  that  re- 
veals and  moulds  the  character  of  a  once  powerful 
people. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


MONSERRAT. 


The  queerest  freak  of  nature  in  Spain,  and  perhaps 
in  Europe,  is  Monserrat,  the  convent  mountain  on  the 
east  coast,  about  thirty  miles  from  Barcelona.  Goethe 
refers  to  it  in  the  second  part  of  "  Faust,"  where  we 
read :  — 

"  It  is  not  unamusing  to  see  Nature 
From  the  Devil's  point  of  view." 

It  is  not  generally  supposed  that  the  devil,  whose  of- 
fice it  is  to  destroy,  ever  created  anything,  but  if  he 
shoidd  try  his  hand  at  a  landscape  the  result  would  be 
somethins:  like  Monserrat.  Whether  he  v/ould  fill  its 
almost  inaccessible  caves  and  the  holes  in  the  rocks 
with  hermits  is  a  question  for  the  theologians.  That 
he  resisted  the  establislunent  there  of  one  of  the  great- 
est convents  of  the  Middle  Ages,  I  presume  there  is 
no  doubt,  and  that  he  sees  with  chagTin  the  one  hun- 
dred thousand  pilgrims  annually  crowding  to  its  broken 
shrines  is  taken  for  granted.  It  is  not  probable,  how- 
ever, with  his  Mephistophelean  sjTnpathy  with  the 
"  progress  of  the  age,"  that  he  is  disturbed  by  the 
curiosity-hunters,  who  have,  to  use  his  own  language, 
"  a  devil  of  a  time  "  in  getting  there,  or  by  the  thrifty 


284      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

spirit  which  makes  a  little  money  out  of  the  desire  to 
see  its  sacred  places  and  buy  pious  souvenirs. 

We  took  the  rail  from  Barcelona  to  Zaragoza,  one 
day  early  in  June,  and  rode  a  couple  of  hours  to  the 
little  station  of  Monistrol.  The  country  is  broken  into 
low  hills  and  sharp  ravines,  and  although  it  is  abso- 
lutely barren  of  grass  and  ragged  in  aspect,  it  is  much 
better  cultivated  than  most  parts  of  Spain,  and  pre- 
sents an  appearance  of  industrious  agriculture.  By 
contrast  to  the  thriftlessness  elsewhere,  it  is  a  paradise 
of  verdure,  and  when  its  nakedness  is  covered  by  the 
vines  is  far  from  being  unpleasing.  From  the  station, 
where  the  road  runs  along  an  upland  slope,  we  looked 
down  upon  the  river  Llobregat  and  its  valley.  There, 
at  the  very  base  of  the  mountain,  lies  the  straggling 
village  of  Monistrol,  with  its  old  stone  bridge  and  high, 
quaint,  dilapidated  buildings. 

Out  of  this  valley  rises  the  scarped,  gashed,  and 
flamboyant  mountain,  as  by  a  tour  deforce,  thrust  up, 
with  almost  perpendicular  sides,  into  the  air  nearly 
four  thousand  feet.  It  is  said  to  have  a  circumference 
at  its  base  of  about  twenty-four  miles.  It  springs  out 
of  the  valley  an  irregular,  unique,  independent  mass  of 
rock,  with  little  verdure  apparently,  and  glowing  in 
the  afternoon  light  with  a  dull  reddish  color.  I  do 
not  know  whether  it  was  really  thrown  up  in  some  pre- 
historic spasm  of  nature,  or  whether  its  peculiar  form 
is  owing  to  gradual  degradation  and  decay;  but  it 
looks  like  a  molten  mass  spouted  from  a  solid  base  into 
fantastic,  contorted,  and  twisted  flames,  freaky  shapes 


MONSERRA  T.  285 

of  fire  caught  and  solidified  into  pointing  fingers,  tow- 
ers, pinnacles,  beacons,  and  writhing  attitudes  of  stone. 
Another  moimtain  so  airy,  grotesque,  and  flame-like 
does  not  exist.  It  cannot  be  anji;liing  else  than  nature 
from  the  deviFs  point  of  view,  and  it  might  well  sug- 
gest the  idea  that  it  is  a  veritable  piece  of  the  infernal 
landscape  flung  up  here  as  a  curiosity  and  a  warning. 
This  mass  of  rock  is  rent  by  a  deep  gash  on  the  east 
side.  That  this  appalling  cleft  was  not  there  origi- 
nally, but  was  formed  by  a  convidsion  at  the  moment 
of  the  crucifixion  in  Palestine,  I  have  only  the  author- 
ity of  the  monkish  writers,  who  ha^ve  made  tliis  moun- 
tain of  miracles  a  subject  of  deep  scientific  study. 
There  is  this  confirmation  of  the  theory :  that  nobody 
except  the  monks  can  tell  when  the  chasm  was  made. 
And  there  is  this,  fiu'ther,  to  be  said  :  that  but  for 
this  gash,  this  ragged  ravine,  there  would  have  been 
no  place  for  the  convent,  and  only  the  poorest  sort  of 
shelter  for  the  hermits. 

A  lumbering  omnibus-diligence  was  waiting  at  the 
Monistrol  station  to  take  passengers  up  the  mountain. 
These  are  sociable  conveyances  in  Spain,  having  some 
of  the  uses  and  none  of  the  conveniences  of  railway 
palace  and  dining-room  cars.  Into  the  interior  were 
jammed  nurses,  babies,  soldiers,  priests,  and  peasants ; 
aU  talking  and  chattering,  aU  eating  or  nursing,  all 
sweltering  and  half  stifled  in  the  clouds  of  dust  that 
enveloped  the  coach.  It  is  the  fashion  in  Spain,  when 
one  eats  liis  luncheon  or  dinner  in  a  public  convey- 
ance, to  offer  of  his  food  and  drink  to  his  f ellow-trav- 


286     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

elers ;  it  would  be  very  uncivil  not  to  do  this.  It  is 
the  fashion,  also,  to  decline  to  take  it ;  so  that  Spain 
is  the  land  that  combines  extreme  generosity  with  the 
least  expense.  No  doubt  both  the  generosity  and  the 
economy  are  genuine.  It  does  one  good  in  his  soul  to 
be  liberal  in  the  offer  of  his  bread  and  boiled  meat 
(left  from  the  soup  eaten  at  home)  and  sour  wine  to 
his  companions,  and  they  are  all  put  in  good  humor 
by  declining.  We  secured  places  on  the  driver's  seat 
in  front,  where  we  had  the  full  benefit  of  the  dust,  and 
were  deprived  of  the  sustenance  contained  in  the  gar- 
lic-laden air  of  the  interior.  We  dashed  along  at  a 
fine  rate  down  into  the  valley,  and  clattered  into  the 
town  with  a  good  deal  of  importance  ;  but  that  was 
the  end  of  our  liveliness.  Thenceforward,  for  four 
mortal  hours,  we  dragged  up  the  side  of  the  mountain 
at  what  seemed  to  be  about  the  rate  of  movement  of  a 
glacier.  The  town  of  Monistrol  is  picturesque  at  a 
distance,  and  unsightly  close  at  hand.  Its  tall  houses, 
with  recessed  balconies  the  width  of  the  front  on  each 
story,  are  piled  one  above  another  in  shabby  disorder, 
on  the  steep  sides  of  the  river  and  up  the  hill.  These 
balconies,  which  appear  to  be  the  living  and  lounging 
places  of  the  families,  are  screened  from  the  sun  by 
curtains  of  matting,  and  are  gay  with  garments  of  all 
colors  and  all  styles  of  wear.  Before  beginning  the 
ascent  the  diligence  halted  at  a  friendly  little  posada, 
with  a  flower-garden,  where  lively  and  pretty  girls 
served  the  passengers  with  such  refreshments  as  they 
called  for.     The  road  climbing  the  mountain  —  like 


MONSERRAT.  287 

nearly  all  the  roads  in  Spain,  where  the  government 
has  thought  it  worth  while  to  make  any  —  is  splen- 
didly built.  It  is  carried  up  the  mountain  side,  along 
ledges  and  precipices,  in  a  series  of  gradually  ascend- 
ing loops  and  curves,  constantly  doubling  on  itself, 
and  going  a  distance  of  two  miles  to  make  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  ascent.  Lately,  trees  —  figs,  maples,  cher- 
ries, pines,  and  aspens  —  have  been  planted  along  this 
broad  highway,  so  that  in  a  few  years  its  sun-beaten 
travelers  will  enjoy  a  much-needed  shade.  All  the 
ravines  about  which  the  road  coils  like  an  intermin- 
able serpent  are  terraced,  and  carefully  cultivated  and 
set  with  vines. 

The  slow,  creeping  movement  of  the  diligence  at 
length  became  so  intolerable  that  several  of  the  pas- 
sengers dismounted,  and  walked  on,  reaching  the  mon- 
astery before  it.  As  we  rose,  the  capricious  character 
of  the  mountain  became  more  apparent.  Great  masses 
of  rock  overhung  the  road ;  the  walls  were  buttressed 
like  artificial  fortifications,  and  a  range  of  tapering 
towers,  not  needles  and  spires,  as  in  the  dolomites  and 
the  polntes  cT aiguilles  at  Chamouni,  but  bluntly  and 
clumsily  terminated,  like  fingers  and  thumbs,  stood  up 
in  the  air.  At  one  point  we  passed  beneath  a  parv 
tially  isolated  column  that  is  held  aloft  exactly  like  a 
lioht-house.  The  mountain  is  lonsrest  from  east  to 
west,  and  the  old  monks  fancied  that  it  had  the  form 
of  a  gigantic  ship,  with  its  prow  uj)heaved ;  a  myste- 
rious vessel  in  which  the  Virgin  Mary  conducted  her 
devotees  —  some   of   whom,   however,   suffered    ship- 


288      NOTES  OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

wreck,  according  to  tlie  legends  —  to  the  port  of  Sal- 
vation. It  might  as  well  be  called  a  Noah's  ark, 
stranded  in  a  dry  time.  The  mountain  in  its  forma- 
tion and  composition  is  of  the  utmost  interest  to  ge- 
ologists and  mineralogists.  A  near  inspection  shows 
that  the  entire  mass,  ledges,  walls,  towers,  and  pinna- 
cles, is  composed  of  small  round  stones,  of  various 
colors,  agglomerated  into  a  sort  of  pudding-stone,  a 
party-colored  mosaic,  reddish  and  greenish  and  gray- 
ish, and  very  beautiful  when  the  sun  strikes  it.  The 
mountain  is  also  very  rich,  for  the  botanist,  in  plants 
and  wild  flowers. 

After  miles  of  weary  curving  and  doubling  the  road 
sweeps  along  the  north  side  of  the  mountain  and  en- 
ters the  eastern  cleft,  in  which  the  convent  buildings 
and  gardens  are  found.  There  was  no  sign  of  any 
habitation,  or  any  possible  place  for  one,  until  we  were 
actually  in  it.  The  ravine  ends  in  a  horseshoe  curve, 
set  about  with  perpendicular  precipices  and  towers, 
the  latter  leaning  towards  each  other  in  drunken  con- 
fusion, pointing  in  various  directions  into  the  sky; 
some  the  shape  of  monstrous  tenpins,  and  one,  which 
was  my  favorite,  exactly  the  shape  of  a  thumb  with  a 
distinctly  accented  nail.  In  this  almost  inaccessible 
spot,  nobody  except  religious  fanatics  would  ever  have 
deemed  it  possible  to  obtain  standing-room  for  exten- 
sive religious  houses.  But  here,  jammed  into  this 
crevice,  frowned  on  by  precipices  all  around,  with  a 
ragged,  yawning  gulf  in  front  and  below,  extending 
down,  down,  to  the  far-off,  dreamy  vaUey,  are  the 


MONSERRAT.  289 

several  houses  of  a  vast  monastery,  a  large  church, 
buildings  for  laymen,  a  great  restaurant,  ruins  of 
fine  Gothic  edifices  destroyed  by  the  ever-barbarous 
French  invaders,  some  cypresses,  and  some  tiny  gar- 
den spots.  All  these  structures  cluster  about  the  head 
of  the  ravine,  and  rest  on  ledges  over  which  the  rocks 
hang  in  threatening  attitudes.  Standmg  in  the  court- 
yard of  the  church,  about  which  are  the  high  barraclis 
of  the  "  religious,"  and  looking  up  to  the  beetling,  im- 
pending crags  and  the  blue  heavens  above  the  dark 
mass,  one  has  a  conception  of  the  sublime  daring  of 
religious  faith  in  the  presence  of  forbidding  and  im- 
placable nature.  Round  about,  high  up  among  the 
rocks,  are  the  caves  and  the  ruined  stone  huts  of  the 
old  hermits. 

It  was  near  sundown  when  we  reached  this  haven  of 
rest  and  made  a  demand  on  its  hospitality  for  the  few 
days  of  our  pilgrim  sojourn.  The  monastery  has  a 
great  history,  into  which  it  is  no  part  of  this  paper 
to  enter.  It  was  suppressed  over  forty  years  ago,  and 
is  no  longer  of  much  importance  as  an  active  religious 
community ;  it  has  less  tlian  a  score  of  monks  to  oc- 
cupy its  vast  barracks.  But  it  is  now,  as  it  has  been 
for  ages,  a  thronged  place  of  pilgrimage  on  account  of 
its  famed  image  of  the  Black  Virgin.  Many  years 
ago  extensive  buildings  were  erected  for  the  tempo- 
rary accommodation  of  pilgrims  and  lay  brothers,  and 
in  these  strangers  are  hospitably  assigned  quarters  for 
three  days,  or  for  nine  days  on  special  permission, 
without  charge  for  lodging.     But  Spain  is  like  othet 


290     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

lands,  where  something  is  not  given  for  nothing,  and 
the  stranger,  at  the  end  of  his  stay,  is  exjaected  to  put 
into  the  box  of  the  custodian  about  as  much  as  he 
woidd  pay  for  lodgings  at  a  good  hotel,  and  as  much 
more  as  his  piety  dictates. 

No  enthusiasm  was  exhibited  on  our  arrival,  and 
there  was  no  one  to  welcome  us  or  to  direct  us.  We 
were  left  on  the  pavement,  where  the  diligence  landed 
us  with  our  luggage,  utterly  at  a  loss  how  to  effect  an 
entrance  into  any  of  the  stone  jails  in  sight.  At  length 
we  were  directed  to  the  hosi^ederia,  where  a  civil 
brother  in  a  black  robe  informed  us  that  a  lay  brother 
would  assign  us  quarters  presently.  The  lay  brother, 
when  he  appeared,  hardly  filled  one's  idea  of  a  brother, 
nor  had  he  the  neatness  that  one  requires  in  a  cham- 
ber-maid, which  was  his  office  with  regard  to  our 
rooms.  He  showed  me  into  a  room  in  the  plain  stone 
building  of  Santa  Theresa  of  Jesus,  as  the  inscription 
over  the  door  informed  me,  built  early  in  the  sixteenth 
century.  The  room  was  a  dirty,  whitewashed  cell, 
with  one  window  a.nd  a  stone  floor,  and  contained  for 
furniture  a  narrow  bedstead,  a  rickety,  dirty  wash- 
stand,  a  shaky  chair,  and  a  bit  of  mirror.  To  this  as- 
cetic den  the  brother  brought  sheets,  a  towel,  and  a 
jug  of  water,  gave  me  the  key  of  it,  and  set  me  up  in 
housekeeping.  When  I  had  visited  the  restaurant 
and  bought  a  fat  tallow  candle,  I  wanted  nothing  more 
that  was  to  be  obtained.  The  room  was  comfortable 
enough,  but  not  calculated  to  win  one  to  take  up  a 
permanent  abode  in  it  and  abandon  the  luxury  of  the 


MONSERRAT.  291 

world.  Yet  wlien  I  opened  tlie  window,  in  the  deep- 
ening twilight,  and  looked  out,  through  the  branches 
of  a  couple  of  tall  trees  that  manage  somehow  to  grow 
in  that  stony  place,  down  the  ravine  lying  in  the 
shadow  of  the  precipices,  on  farther  into  the  valley, 
hazy  in  a  golden  mist  of  early  evening,  and  felt  the 
cool  air,  not  unladen  with  sweetness,  blow  up  from  be- 
low, and  heard  the  faint  and  fainter  bird  twitterings 
and  the  hushed  hum  of  a  June  night,  I  think  that  I 
experienced,  in  this  high  seclusion,  something  of  that 
calm  which  hermits  term  the  peace  of  God.  Indeed, 
one  could  take  his  choice  of  emotions  in  this  solitude, 
which  witnessed  strange  antediluvian  freaks,  which 
was  haunted  by  sylvan  shapes  in  Roman  times,  where 
Venus  was  no  doubt  a  goddess  before  Mary,  which 
was  a  huntino;-o:round  of  Goths  and  Saracens,  where 
Charlemagne  set  up  a  shrine  to  Santa  Cecilia  in  the 
eighth  century,  where  the  image  of  the  Virgin  wrought 
miracles  in  the  ninth  century,  where  Philip  II.  spent 
vast  sums  in  building  to  the  glory  of  God  and  himseK, 
and  where,  in  the  chapel  hard  by,  Ignatius  Loyola 
spent  a  night  in  meditation  before  the  shrine  of  the 
Virgin,  on  whose  altar  he  laid  his  sword  in  the  hours, 
when  he  dedicated  himself,  her  true  knight,  to  the. 
foundation  of  the  Order  of  Jesus. 

The  hospitality  of  the  brethren  stops  with  shelter  ; 
the  pilgrim  must  go  to  the  restaurant  for  his  food. 
This  is  a  "  Frenchy  "  sort  of  establishment,  not  con- 
ducted on  an  ascetic  regimen,  and  its  flaunting  pres- 
ence here,  together  with  the  holy  booth  for  the  sale  of; 


292      NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

photographs  and  superstitious  trinkets,  gives  a  sort  of 
show  appearance  to  this  sacred  place.  It  has  become 
a  pleasure  resort,  —  pleasure  of  a  chastened  sort.  The 
restaurant  has  three  stories,  like  a  graded  school,  in 
which  the  food  served  is  graded  to  suit  the  purses  of 
the  pilgrims.  The  lower  floor  is  rudely  furnished,  like 
the  peasants'  dining-room  in  a  posada ;  the  second  is 
a  littlo  better  ;  the  third  has  more  pretensions  to  ele- 
gance. The  traveler  can  begin  below  and  eat  himself 
upward  into  expensive  meals,  or  he  can  begin  at  the 
top  and  drop  down  to  economy  as  his  purse  fails.  The 
natives  probably  get  about  as  good  food  in  the  lowest 
room  as  strangers  get  in  the  highest.  The  traveler, 
however,  will  fare  tolerably  well  there,  and  he  will  be 
served  with  that  absolute  indifference  to  whether  he 
likes  it  or  not  that  characterizes  the  proud  caterers  of 
noble  Spain. 

The  glory  of  Monserrat  is  the  image  of  the  Virgin, 
it  was  this  that  built  its  monastery  and  church,  drew 
countless  treasure  to  the  coffers  of  the  fraternity  for 
hundreds  of  years,  and  that  still  attracts  annually  tens 
of  thousands  of  curious  and  devout  pilgrims.  The 
history  of  it  is  interesting,  though  original  only  in 
some  points,  for  there  is  a  monotonous  sameness  in  all 
these  monkish  inventions.  There  was  a  great  strife 
all  through  the  Middle  Ages,  among  convents  and 
churches,  for  objects  that  should  attract  the  pence  and 
excite  the  piety  of  the  devout,  and  many  a  church  was 
built  and  gorgeously  decorated  by  reason  of  its  posses- 
sion of  some  uncommonly  attractive  relic.     Black  im- 


MONSERRA  T.  293 

ages  of  the  Virgin  are  common  in  Spain.  A  very  pop- 
ular one  is  the  Virgin  of  the  Pillar,  at  Zaragoza,  over 
which  the  Cathedral  El  Pilar  was  erected  to  keep  it 
safe  and  honor  it.  In  this  church  is  shown  the  ala- 
baster pillar  on  which  the  Virgin  stood  when  she  de- 
scended to  have  an  interview  with  Santiago.  By  rea- 
son of  this  special  mark  of  the  favor  of  the  Virgin, 
Zaragoza  claimed  the  primacy  of  Aragon.  Upon  the 
pillar  stands  a  very  ancient  image  of  the  Virgin  ;  it  is 
small,  and  carved  out  of  resinous  and  very  black  wood. 
The  Virgin  holds  the  Infant  in  one  hand,  and  gathers 
her  drapery  in  the  other.  The  pillar,  which  is  the  ob- 
ject of  passionate  devotion  to  the  people  of  Zaragoza, 
can  be  seen  through  a  small  orifice  in  the  marble  cas- 
ing, but  the  spot  in  sight  is  much  worn  by  the  kisses 
of  the  faithful.  Few  Catholics  visit  the  church  v.'ith- 
out  putting  their  lips  to  the  sacred  stone.  In  the  old 
Cathedral  of  San  Leo,  in  the  same  city,  is  a  spot 
marked  in  the  pavement  where  the  Virgin  stood  and 
spoke  to  Canon  Funes.  Toledo,  not  to  be  outdone, 
has  also  a  small  image  called  the  Great  Queen,  carved 
in  black  wood.  In  711  it  was  saved  from  the  infidel 
Saracens  by  an  Englishman,  who  hid  it  in  a  vault.  It 
is  one  of  the  treasures  of  the  cathedral,  which  has  also 
the  stone  slab  on  which  the  Viroin  alis^hted  when  she 
conversed  with  San  Ildefonso,  who  died  in  617.  To 
this  circumstance  Toledo  owes  its  elevation  to  the  pri- 
macy of  Castile. 

The  image  now  at  Monserrat  has  its  origin  in  the 
love  of  the  Virgin  for  the  Catalanes,  who  saw  with 


294      NOTES  OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

pity  tlieir  grief  at  tlie  favoritism  shown  tlie  Aragonese 
in  the  possession  of  the  Virgin  of  the  Pillar.  It  was 
probably  carved  by  St.  Lnke,  —  the  first  of  the  mas- 
ter wood-carvers,  —  and  brought  to  Barcelona  by  St. 
Peter  in  the  year  50.  When  it  was  endangered  by 
the  Moorish  invasion  in  717,  it  was  carried  to  tliis 
mountain,  hid  in  a  cave,  and  forgotten  for  a  hundred 
and  sixty-three  years.  In  880  some  shepherds  wander- 
ing over  the  mountain  were  attracted  to  the  place  of 
its  concealment  by  heavenly  lights.  They  informed 
Gondemar,  Bishop  of  Vique,  who  repaired  to  the  spot, 
and,  gaiided  by  a  sweet  smell,  discovered  the  image  in 
a  cave.  This  cave,  over  which  is  now  erected  a  beau- 
tiful and  exceedingly  damp  and  bone-chilling  chapel, 
where  daily  masses  are  said,  is  one  of  the  chief  places 
of  pilgiimage.  It  lies  on  a  narrow  ledge  deep  down 
in  the  ravine,  a  mile  or  more  from  the  monastery. 
Bishop  Gondemar,  rejoicing  in  his  discovery,  set  out 
with  a  procession  of  clergy  to  bear  the  image  over  the 
mountain  to  his  church  in  Manresa.  When  they  had 
toiled  up  the  ragged  ravine,  and  reached  a  level  ledge 
not  far  from  where  the  monastery  now  stands,  the  Vir- 
gin obstinately  refused  to  go  any  farther.  As  there 
was  no  reasoning  with  a  graven  image,  it  was  placed 
on  the  spot  where  it  wished  to  rest,  and  a  rude  chapel 
was  built  over  it,  in  which  it  remained  for  one  hun- 
dred and  sixty  years.     A  cross  now  marks  the  spot. 

How  did  the  Virgin  indicate  to  the  priests  her  re- 
fusal to  go  any  farther  ?  This  is  one  of  those  skepti- 
cal questions  which  it  is  easy  to  ask,  and  somewhat 


MONSERRAT.  295 

difficult  to  answer.  It  is,  however,  a  scientific  fact 
that  if  you  attempt  to  carry  a  wooden  image  over  such 
a  mountain  as  Monserrat  there  will  come  a  point  in 
the  journey  where  the  image  becomes  heavy,  and  ap- 
parently refuses  to  go  on  without  a  long  rest. 

A  nunnery  was  afterwards  founded  here,  which  in 
976  was  converted  into  a  Benedictine  convent.  In  the 
year  1599  Philip  II.  dedicated  the  church  which  is  the 
present  home  of  the  venerated  image,  where  it  shines 
in  all  the  splendor  of  lace  and  jewelry  high  up  in  a  re- 
cess above  the  high  altar.  Every  day  after  midday 
mass  the  pilgrims  are  permitted  to  ascend,  and  adore 
it.  The  approach  to  it  is  through  several  apartments 
by  flights  of  stairs.  In  the  rear  of  the  image  is  the 
Virgin's  waiting-room,  a  small  chamber,  from  which 
the  devotees  pass  round  singly  to  the  narrow  platform 
in  front  of  the  image.  The  day  of  our  ascent  the 
chamber  was  crowded  with  a  devout,  or  at  least 
devoutly-seeming,  throng:  worshipers,  travelers  with 
note-books  and  pencils,  and  artists.  Each  one  in  turn 
passed  in  front  to  gaze  at  or  to  kiss  the  object  of  the 
pilgrimage.  Many  a  woman  returned  with  moist  eyes 
and  deeply  moved.  The  image  itself  is  of  black  wood ; 
of  what  sort  the  custodians  are  unable  to  say,  but  they 
declare  that  it  is  sweetly  odorous  and  incorruptible. 
It  is  painted  and  finely  gilded.  The  figure  is  seated, 
with  the  child  in  her  lap,  the  latter  holding  a  globe  in 
his  right  hand.  The  position  of  both  figures  is  stiff 
and  archaic,  but  the  face  of  the  Virgin  is  weU  carved 
and  pleasing. 


296      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

In  one  of  the  rooms  in  the  rear  is  the  wardrobe  of 
the  Virgin,  containing  many  sorts  of  raiment,  rich  and 
ornamented  stuffs,  the  gifts  of  kings,  princes,  prelates, 
and  wealthy  devotees.  Another  large  chamber  con- 
tains the  votive  offerings,  the  most  curious  collection 
in  Europe,  and  not  unlike  the  shop  of  a  thriftless 
pawnbroker.  Those  restored  to  health  by  touching 
the  sacred  image  have  deposited  here  whatever  was 
precious  to  them,  and  many  of  the  mementos  speak 
the  touching  thankfulness  of  poverty.  There  are 
wretched  pictures  of  sick-beds,  shipwrecks,  accidents 
of  all  sorts,  and  rescues ;  pieces  of  lace,  real  and  imi- 
tation ;  crutches  and  canes ;  an  exploded  musket ; 
human  hair  of  every  color  and  degree  of  fineness,  — 
one  long  and  superb  braid  of  glossy  black,  the  wealth 
and  pride  of  some  grateful,  and  perhaps  penitent, 
Spanish  beauty  ;  swords,  broken  and  hacked  in  serv- 
ice, and  parade  rapiers  ;  clothing  of  every  description, 
—  gowns  of  silk  and  woolen  and  cotton,  underwear  of 
nameless  sorts,  pantaloons  and  waistcoats  too  ragged 
for  a  beggar  to  covet,  coats  antiquated  beyond  all 
fashion  plates ;  hats  and  caps  by  the  dozen,  —  hats 
old  and  bad,  new  and  shining,  hats  of  silk,  of  felt,  and 
of  straw,  sombreros  and  wide-awakes,  belonging  to 
peasants,  priests,  sailors,  and  soldiers,  all  hung  ujo  out 
of  gratitude,  or  weariness  of  the  hat ;  wax  images, 
without  number,  of  babies,  of  heads,  of  arms,  hips, 
bodies,  and  breasts ;  bandages  and  supports ;  models 
of  ships  elaborately  carved  and  rigged ;  knapsacks ; 
banners  of  embroidered  silli,  presented  by  cities,  mu- 


MONSERRA  T.  297 

nicipallties,  and  nobles.  An  offering  that  attracted  as 
much  attention  as  any  was  a  lady's  necktie,  a  deft  con- 
struction of  blue  ribbon  and  lace.  I  saw  women  look- 
ing longingly  at  it,  and  wondering,  perhaps,  how  a 
girl  coidd  make  up  her  mind  to  give  up  such  a  fresh 
and  sweet  thing. 

We  made,  one  day,  the  ascent  of  the  mountain  to 
the  summit,  to  Monte  San  Geronimo,  where  was  one 
of  the  hermit  shi-ines.     The  severe  climb  requires  an 
hour  and  a  half ;  it  repays  the  trouble,  as  well  for  the 
extensive  prospect  as  for  the  knowledge  it  gives  of  the 
structm-e  of  this  fantastic  mountain.     The  way  lies  up 
ledges  and  through  ravines   and  valleys,  variegated 
with  sweet  shrubs,  wild  flowers,  and  verdure,  and  en- 
livened with  birds,  under  and  around  the  bases  of  the 
detached  columns  of  stone,  some  of  which  rise  three 
hundred  feet  in  the  air,  to  the  highest  point,  a  bare 
field  of  rock.     From  this  windy  summit  we  peeped  be- 
tween the  columns,  leaning  over  the  dizzy  precipice, 
looking  down  fully  two  thousand  feet  to  other  ledges 
below.    The  prospect  is  very  comprehensive  and  pleas- 
ing to  those  who  enjoy  panoramic  and  map-like  views. 
On  a  clear  day  the  white  snow  of  the  Pp'enees  can  be 
seen,  the  coast  and  Barcelona,  and  the  Mediterranean 
and  the  Balearic  Islands.     We  saw  none  of  these  ob- 
jects in  the  hazy  horizon.     Beneath  the  overhanging 
rocks  is  a  coffee-house  where  once  the   hermit's  hut 
stood,  in  which  travelers  shelter  themselves  from  the 
wind,  and  partake  of  a  beverage  called  coffee.     It  is  a 
very  wild  and  gloomy  place,  and  abounds  in  curious 


298     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

rocky  freaks.  We  were  not  alone.  A  company  of 
chatty,  and  for  Spaniards  merry,  pilgrims  had  arrived 
before  us,  who  were  much  more  impressed  with  the 
hardships  of  the  way  than  with  the  magnificences  and 
wonders  of  the  mountain.  I  had  the  honor  —  I  men- 
tion it  because  it  gave  a  fleeting  charm  to  the  barren 
region  —  to  assist  a  Spanish  beauty,  who  was  pain- 
fully picking  her  way  up  the  rough  ascent  in  satin 
slippers,  and  whose  husband  unsentimentally  clung  to 
the  shelter  of  the  hut.  I  carried  her  formidable  fan, 
a  weapon  the  Spanish  woman  never  parts  with,  blow 
it  high  or  low,  and  when  I  restored  it,  on  our  return 
from  the  thrilling  expedition  of  a  few  rods,  I  could 
not  have  been  thanked  with  more  eloquent  eyes, 
sweeter  voice,  and  profounder  bow  if  I  had  saved  her 
life.  How  sweet,  sometimes,  it  is  to  sacrifice  one's  self 
for  others  ! 

Several  hundred  feet  above  the  restaurant,  in  the 
face  of  the  cliff,  and  accessible  only  by  a  narrow  ledge 
not  discernible  from  the  road  below,  is  the  cave  of 
Joan  Gari.  In  this  hole  in  the  rock  that  excellent  an- 
cient hermit  probably  passed  the  last  five  years  of  his 
useful  life,  never  stirring  out  of  it,  his  few  wants  being 
supplied  by  charitable  souls.  I  found  that  La  Cueva 
de  Gari,  when  I  reached  it,  was  an  irregular  cavity  in 
the  rock,  perhaps  twelve  feet  long  and  not  so  deep  as 
long,  and  about  four  feet  high.  It  is  protected  in 
front  by  a  double  iron  grating  four  feet  square.  In  it 
reposes  a  stone  image  of  the  holy  man^  life-size,  with  a 
venerable  beard.     He  lies  reclining  on  one  elbow,  con- 


MONSERRA  T.  299 

templating  a  skull,  which  has  lost  several  of  its  teeth 
and  is  presumably  his  own,  and  a  representation  of 
the  miraculous  image  of  the  Virgin  and  Child.  The 
clasped  hands  rest  upon  an  open  book  and  beads,  and 
a  rude  little  cross  is  stuck  in  the  rock  before  him. 
Behind  him  lies  his  wallet  and  his  staff,  a  basket  that 
perhaps  once  held  the  contributions  of  the  charitable, 
and  a  broken  water-jug.  This  primitive  fvirniture  is 
probably  all  that  the  apartment  ever  contained  in  the 
days  when  the  entrance  to  the  cave  was  thronged  by 
devout  spectators  of  a  man's  ability  to  lie  down  on  a 
bed  of  stone  and  straw  for  five  years. 

The  story  of  Joan  Gari  is  a  testimony  to  the  won- 
der-working power  of  the  Monserrat  image.  It  illus- 
trates also  the  virtue  of  penitence,  and  throws  light 
upon  the  candid  answer  of  the  lovely  French  cate- 
chumen, who,  when  she  was  asked.  What  is  it  neces- 
sary to  do  in  order  to  repent  ?  replied.  It  is  necessary 
to  sin.  I  take  the  story  as  I  find  it  in  the  authorized 
Historia  de  Monserrat,  which  I  bought  at  the  monas- 
tery. 

Joan  Gari  was  a  hermit  of  Monserrat  in  the  ninth 
century,  who  had  a  great  repute  for  sanctity  and  pu- 
rity and  devotion  to  Santa  Cecilia.  Naturally,  Joan 
Gari  prided  himself  upon  his  sanctity,  and  God  deter- 
mined to  put  it  to  proof.  There  reigned  at  that  time 
at  Barcelona,  Count  Wilfredo  el  Velloso,  the  father  of 
a  beautiful  and  charming  daughter,  who,  for  the  secret 
purposes  of  the  divine  will,  was  afflicted  with  a  malign 
spirit,  which,  it  was  declared,  would  not  depart  out  of 


800      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

her  and  leave  her  in  health  excej^t  at  the  mandate  of 
Joan  Gari.  And  it  was  necessary  that  the  maiden 
should  seek  the  holy  man  alone  in  the  mountain  where 
he  abode.  Count  Wilfredo,  moved  by  his  affection, 
and  against  all  the  dictates  of  prudence,  consented  to 
this  pilgrimage  of  his  blooming  daughter.  She  de- 
parted to  the  mountain,  and  never  returned.  Many 
years  elapsed  before  her  fate  was  known  to  the  count. 
The  hermit  had  received  her,  dishonored  her,  mur- 
dered her  to  conceal  his  crime,  and  buried  her  body 
in  a  crevice  in  the  rocks.  Overcome  at  last  by  re- 
morse, Joan  Gari  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  the 
image  of  the  Virgin,  and  begged  her  pity  and  help. 
In  order  to  get  an  indulgence  for  his  sins  he  made  a 
journey  to  Rome,  and  the  Pope  absolved  him  on  con- 
dition that  he  should  expiate  his  crime  by  becoming  a 
beast  like  Nebuchadnezzar  and  roaming  about  on  all 
fours.  This  Gari  did  faithfully  for  six  years,  crawl- 
ing about  among  the  rocks  on  his  hands  and  knees, 
exposed  to  the  elements,  foraging  for  his  food  like  an 
animal  in  the  thickets,  until  he  became  a  hairy,  un-. 
mentionable  monster  of  the  forest.  One  day  in  the 
year  894,  Count  Wilfredo,  with  a  troop  of  attendants, 
went  forth  to  hunt  in  the  wilds  of  Monserrat.  His 
companions,  beating  about  in  the  wilderness,  routed 
out  a  nondescript  monster,  who  permitted  himself  to 
be  taken  alive  into  the  presence  of  Count  Wilfredo. 
The  count  was  much  amused  with  this  capture,  and 
determined  to  take  hmi  as  a  trophy  to  Barcelona, 
whither  Gari  was  nothing  loath  to  go,  as  he  was  deter- 


MONSERRAT,  301 

mined  to  suffer  in  silence  all  the  punishment  that  God 
and  the  count  might  inflict.  He  was  taken  to  Barce- 
lona, and  exhibited  as  a  real  monster  of  the  forest, 
And  there  God  at  last  saw  and  accepted  the  penitence 
of  Gari.  One  day,  when  the  count  had  a  great  feast, 
he  ordered  the  monster  to  he  brought  into  the  ban- 
quet-hall, in  order  to  entertain  his  guests  with  the  un- 
couth curiosity.  But  lo  !  while  they  made  merry  over 
him  at  the  feast,  God  spoke  out  of  the  heavens,  and 
said,  "  Arise,  Joan  Gari !  God  has  pardoned  thy  sins." 
All  heard  the  voice,  but  coidd  hardly  believe  what 
they  heard.  But  Gari,  emboldened  by  the  heavenly 
aid,  arose  and  stood  upright,  and  prostrating  himseK 
at  the  feet  of  the  count  confessed  all.  And  Count 
Wilfredo,  who  declared  that  it  did  not  become  him  to 
withhold  a  forgiveness  that  God  had  granted,  par- 
doned him  on  condition  that  he  should  lead  them  to 
the  grave  of  the  murdered  girl.  This  Gari  did,  and 
when  they  stood  by  the  grave  of  his  victim,  lo !  grace 
succeeded  grace.  Requilda  awoke  from  her  long  and 
tranquil  sleep  in  the  arms  of  Mary  the  Mother  of 
God,  and  rose  up  radiant,  and  kissed  her  wondering 
father.  Like  a  true  woman  as  she  was,  her  fii'st  peti- 
tion to  her  father  was  that  he  should  forq-ive  her  de- 
stroyer,  and  the  next  was  that  she  should  be  permitted 
to  consecrate  herself  to  the  service  of  the  Holy  Virgin, 
at  this  very  shrine,  in  the  shadow  of  which  she  had 
been  dishonored,  murdered,  buried,  and  resurrected 
after  a  sleep  of  seven  years.  So  Requilda  became  a 
nun,  and  Joan  Gari  crawled,  I  suppose,  into  his  hole, 


302     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

where  he  ended  a  life  which  diffuses  a  sanctity  over 
all  this  region.  Whether  he  is,  as  I  have  read,  the 
most  beautiful  exemplar  of  all  the  virtues,  the  reader 
must  judge.  It  seems  to  me  that  he  missed  some  of 
them.  What  they  were  his  image  is  perhaps  intended 
to  represent  him  as  inquiring,  in  his  phrenological  at- 
titude of  studying  his  own  skull. 

It  is  a  very  soothing  and  peaceful  place  to  sojourn 
in,  this  secluded  nook  in  the  mountain.  One  is  lifted 
up  above  the  world,  which  is  nevertheless  in  sight, 
and  protected  without  any  sense  of  being  imprisoned. 
It  adds  something  to  the  feeling  of  repose  that  one 
can  look  so  far  down  the  ravine,  off  over  the  widening 
valley,  and  out  upon  a  great  expanse  of  country, 
which  he  Iniows  is  humming  with  life,  no  sound  of 
which  reaches  him  in  his  secure  retreat.  If  one  is  in 
search  of  a  good  solid  solitude,  let  him  come  and  dwell 
here.  An  air  of  quiet  reigns.  All  the  visitors,  pil- 
grims, and  curiosity-hunters  do  not  seem  to  break  it. 
The  ruins,  the  half-neglected  gardens,  the  gaunt  old 
monastery  with  its  rows  of  factory-like  windows,  the 
antiquated  houses  of  entertainment,  the  big  church 
hanging  over  the  precipice,  the  savage  rocks,  the 
gashed  ravines,  the  fantastic  towers  that  lean  in  the 
background,  would  subdue  the  most  jaunty  spirit ;  and 
yet  it  is  not  a  melancholy  place.  The  birds  like  it, 
the  flowers  bloom  there  with  tender  grace,  the  air  is 
fresh  and  inspiring.  The  few  friars  who  glide  about 
the  courts  and  occasionally  show  themselves  at  a  win- 
dow, the  servants  who  keep  the  place  in  order,  the  lit- 


MONSERRA  T.  303 

tie  colony  tliat  has  gathered  there  to  serve  the  public, 
scarcely  disturb  the  ancient  quiet.  I  fancy  that  the 
atmosphere  of  monkish  reticence  and  silence  still  re- 
mains. It  is  one  of  the  few  spots  left  in  the  world 
where  a  scholar  might  sit  down,  undisturbed  by  any 
suggestions  of  an  uneasy  age,  and  compose  such  inter- 
minable theological  tomes  as  those  that  slumber  in  its 
libraries,  which  nobody  can  read. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

RANDOM   SPANISH  NOTES. 

Spain  is  for  all  the  world  the  land  of  romance. 
For  the  artist  it  is  the  land  of  Murillo,  Velasquez, 
Fortuny,  and  Goya,  of  sunlight  and  color.  For  the 
student  of  history  it  holds  the  precious  archives  of  the 
New  World  adventure  and  daring,  of  that  subtle  and 
sanguinary  policy  in  religion  and  war  which  is  typi- 
fied in  the  names  of  Loyola  and  Philip  II.  For  the 
lover  of  architecture  it  contains  some  marvels  of 
Gothic  boldness  and  fancy,  and  Saracenic  beauty  and 
grace.  For  the  investigator  of  race  and  language  it 
holds  the  problems  of  the  Basque  and  the  Gypsy.  The 
great  races  who  have  had  their  day  there,  the  Roman, 
the  Goth,  the  Norman,  the  Moor,  have  left  visible 
traces  and  an  historical  atmosphere  of  romance. 

And  yet  the  real  Spain  is  the  least  attractive  coun- 
try in  Europe  to  the  tourist.  The  traveler  goes  there 
to  see  certain  unique  objects.  He  sees  them,  enjoys 
them,  is  eytranced  by  them,  leaves  them  with  regret 
and  a  tender  memory,  and  is  glad  to  get  out  of  Spain. 
There  are  six  things  to  see :  the  Alhambra,  the  Seville 
cathedral  and  Alcazar,  tlie  Mosque  of  Cordova,  Toledo 
and  its  cathedral,  the  Gallery  at  Madrid,  and  Monser- 
rat.     The   rest   is   mainly   monotony   and  weariness. 


RANDOM  SPANISH  NOTES.  305 

Witli  the  exception  of  the  Alhamhra,  which  has  a 
spell  that  an  idle  man  finds  hard  to  break,  and  where 
perhaps  he  could  be  content  indefinitely,  there  is  no 
place  in  Spain  that  one  can  imagine  he  would  like  to 
live  in,  for  the  pleasure  of  living.     Taking  out  certain 
historical  features  and  monuments,  the  towns  repeat 
each  other  in  their  attractions  and  their  disagreeables. 
Every  town  and  city  in  Italy  has  its  individual  char- 
acter and  special  charm.     To  go  from  one  to  another 
is  always  to  change  the  scene  and  the  delight.     This 
is  true  of  the  old  German  towns  also.     Each  has  a 
character.      The  traveler  sees  many  a  place  in  each 
country  where  he  thinks  he  could  stay  on  from  month 
to  month,  with  a  growing  home-like  feeling.     I  think 
there  is  nothing  of  this  attraction  in  Spain.    The  want 
of  it  may  be  due  to  the  country  itself,  or  to  the  people. 
I  fancy  that  with  its  vast  arid  plains,  treeless  and  tire- 
some, its  gullied  hills  and  its  bare,  escarped  moun- 
tains, Spain   resembles   New  Mexico.     It  is   an  un- 
softened,   unrelieved   landscape,   for   the  most    part, 
sometimes  grand  in  its  vastness  and  sweep,  but  rugged 
and  unadorned.     The  want  of  grass  and  gentle  ver- 
dure is  a  serious  drawback  to  the  pleasure  of  the  eye, 
not  compensated  by  the  magic  tricks  of  the  sunlight, 
and  the  variegated  reds,  browns,  and  yellows  of  the 
exposed  soil  and  rocks,  and  the  spring-time  green  of 
the  nascent  crops.     I  speak,  of  course,  of  the  general 
aspect,  for  the  mountain  regions  are  rich  in  wild  flow- 
ers, and  the  cultivation  in  the  towns  is  everywhere  a 
redeeming  feature. 

20 


306      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

The  traveler,  of  course,  gets  his  impressions  of  a 
people  from  the  outside.  These  are  correct  so  far  as 
they  go,  and  it  is  in  a  sense  safe  to  generalize  on 
them,  though  not  to  particularize.  He  catches  very 
soon  the  moral  atmosphere  of  a  strange  land,  and 
knows  whether  it  is  agreeable  or  otherwise,  whether 
the  people  seem  pleasant  or  the  reverse.  He  learns  to 
discriminate,  for  example,  between  the  calculated  ge- 
milthlichheit  of  Switzerland  and  the  more  spontaneous 
friendliness  of  Bavaria.  He  can  pronounce  at  once 
upon  the  cordial  good  humor  of  the  Viennese,  the 
obligingness  of  the  people  of  Edmburgh,  the  agreea- 
bleness  of  the  Swedes,  simply  on  street -knowledge, 
without  ever  entering  a  private  house  or  receiving 
any  personal  hospitality.  He  knows  the  wily,  poetical 
ways  by  which  he  is  beguiled  in  Italy,  but  grows  fond 
of  the  sunny  race. 

In  Spain  he  is  pretty  certain  to  be  rubbed  the 
.wrong  way,  most  of  the  time.  He  is  conscious  of 
an  atmosphere  of  suspicion,  of  distrust,  of  contempt 
often.  He  cannot  understand,  for  instance,  why  at- 
tendants in  churches  and  cathedrals  are  so  curt  and 
disobliging,  keeping  him  away,  on  one  pretense  and 
another,  from  the  sights  he  has  come  far  to  see,  and 
for  which  he  is  willing  to  pay.  Incidents  occurred 
both  at  Granada  and  Toledo  that  could  be  accounted 
for  only  on  the  supposition  that  the  custodians  liked 
to  discommode  strangers.  If  we  had  been  French- 
men, whom  the  Sj^aniards  hate  as  the  despoilers  of 
churches  and  galleries,  we  could  have  understood  it. 


RANDOM  SPANISH  NOTES.  307 

By  reputation  the  Spaniard  is  at  home  hospitable,  and 
on  acquaintance  gracious,  and  generally  willing  to 
oblio-e.     But  the  national  atmosphere  is  certainly  not 

&  

what  the  Germans  call  gemutJilich.  In  no  other  Euro- 
pean country  is  the  traveler  likely  to  encounter  so 
much  mcivility  and  rudeness,  so  little  attempt  at  pleas- 
ino-  him  and  making  him  like  the  country.  At  least, 
the  attitude  is  that  of  indifference  whether  the  coun- 
try pleases  him  or  not.  Perhaps  this  springs  from  a 
noble  pride  and  superiority.  Perhaps  it  is  from  a 
provincial  consciousness  of  being  about  two  hundred 
years  behind  the  age.  But,  elsewhere,  the  pleasantest 
people  to  travel  among  are  those  whose  clocks  stopped 
two  centuries  ago.  Individually,  I  have  no  doubt,  the 
Spaniards  are  charming.  Collectively,  they  do  not 
appear  to  welcome  the  stranger,  or  put  themselves  out 
to  make  his  sojourn  agreeable. 

I  should  say  all  this  with  diffidence,  or  perhaps 
shoidd  not  say  it  at  all,  if  I  had  been  longer  in  Spain. 
But  surface  impressions  have  a  certain  value  as  well 
as  deep  experiences.  Some  philosophers  maintain 
that  the  first  impression  of  a  face  is  the  true  one  as  to 
the  character  of  the  person. 

Spain,  then,  impresses  one  with  a  sense  of  barren- 
ness, —  a  barren  land  with  half  a  dozen  rich  "  pock- 
ets." The  present  race,  if  we  take  out  a  few  artists 
and  writers,  has  produced  nothing  that  the  world 
much  cares  for.  It  destroyed  and,  sheerly  from  want 
of  appreciation,  let  go  to  ruin  the  most  exquisite  crea- 
tions of  a  people  of  refinement  and  genius.   The  world 


808      NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

ought  never  to  forgive  the  barbarity  that  constructed 
the  hideous  palace  of  Charles  V.,  in  the  Alhambra,  — 
tearing  down  priceless  architectural  beauty  to  make 
room  for  it,  —  or  that  smashed  into  the  forest  of 
twelve  hundred  columns  in  the  mosque  of  Cordova,  to 
erect  a  chapel  in  the  centre.  Since  the  era  of  the 
magnificent  Gothic  cathedrals,  Spanish  taste  and  char- 
acter seem  typified  in  tliat  j)alace  of  Charles  in  the 
Alliambra,  and  in  the  ugly  and  forbidding  pile  —  as 
utilitarian  as  a  stone  cotton-mill  —  the  Escorial.  Mod- 
ern Spanish  architecture  is  generally  uninteresting, 
and  would  be  wholly  so  but  for  the  inheritance  of  the 
Moorish  courts  ov  ^idtios,  which  give  a  charm  to  the 
interiors. 

But  for  these  and  the  few  remains  of  a  better  age, 
nothing  could  be  more  commonplace  than  the  appear- 
ance of  the  city  of  Seville,  or  uglier  than  its  dusty 
and  monotonous  plazas.  This  character  is  that  of  the 
cities  of  Andalusia.  Yet  what  undying  romance  there 
is  in  the  very  names  of  Andalucia  and  Sevilla!  What 
visions  of  chivalry  and  beauty  and  luxury  they  evoke ! 
What  a  stream  of  the  imagination  is  the  turbid  Gua- 
dalquivir,  running  through  a  flat  and  sandy  country ! 
Seville  itself  is  flat,  and  subject  to  the  overflow  of  the 
river.  Consequently  it  is  damp  and  unwholesome  a 
part  of  the  year ;  in  summer  it  is  hot,  in  winter  it  has 
a  fitful,  chilly  climate.  In  spite  of  the  mantillas  and 
fans  and  dark  eyes,  the  pretty  patios  with  flowers  and 
perhaps  a  fountain,  the  iridescent  splendors  of  the  Al- 
cazar and  the  decaying  interiors  of  some  old  Moorish 


RANDOM  SPANISH  NOTES.  809 

houses,  like  tlie  Casa  cle  Pilatos  (said  to  be  built  in 
imitation  of  the  House  of  Pilate  in  Jerusalem),  the 
magnificent  cathedral,  which  is  as  capable  as  anything 
in  this  world,  built  of  stone,  to  lift  the  soul  up  into  an 
ecstasy  of  devotional  feeling,  the  aspect  of  the  town  is 
essentially  provincial  and  common.  It  is  modernized 
without  taste,  and  yet  when  the  traveler  comes  away 
he  hates  to  admit  it,  remembermg  the  unique  attrac- 
tions of  the  cathedral  and  the  Alcazar,  and  a  narrow, 
winding  street,  still  left  here  and  there,  with  the  over- 
hanging balconies  high  in  the  air,  the  quaint  portals, 
the  glimpses  of  flowery  courts,  the  towers  white  with 
whitewash,  the  sharp  blue  shadows,  the  rifts  of  ceru- 
lean sky  overhead.  He  tries  to  forget  the  staring 
Plaza  Nueva,  with  its  stunted  palms,  and  the  Bull- 
King,  and  the  gigantic  cigar  factory,  where  are  as- 
sembled, under  one  roof,  three  thousand  coarse  women, 
many  of  whom  have  learned  to  roll  cigars  and  rock 
the  cradles  at  their  side  at  the  same  time,  —  three 
thousand  coarse  women,  with  now  and  then  a  wild 
beauty;  for  it  is  difficult  to  keep  beauty  out  of  the 
female  sex  altogether,  anywhere. 

The  traveler  will  fare  very  well  in  the  larger  towns 
of  Spain,  where  the  French  art  of  cooking  is  practiced, 
with  the  addition  of  an  abundance  in  the  way  of  fruit. 
We  were  very  well  off  at  the  Hotel  Madrid  in  Seville, 
which  has  spacious  rooms  and  a  charming  large  inte- 
rior court,  overlooked  by  verandas,  with  a  fountain  and 
flowers  and  oleanders  and  other  low-growing  trees,  and 
with  garlands  of  vines  stretched  across  it.     The  com- 


o 


10  NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 


pany  was  chiefly  Spanish,  and  the  long  tahle  cVhSte 
was  not  seklom  amusing,  in  spite  of  all  the  piety  of 
formality  which  in  Europe  belongs  to  the  ceremony  of 
dining.  Of  course  none  but  the  best  people  were 
there,  and  after  the  soup,  and  at  any  time  during  the 
courses,  the  gentlemen  lit  cigarettes,  so  that  we  could 
see  the  ladies'  eyes  flashing  through  a  canopy  of 
smoke.  It  was  a  noisy  table ;  it  was  in  fact  a  Babel. 
The  Spaniard,  in  public,  does  not  appear  to  converse  ; 
he  orates,  and  gesticulates,  and  argues  with  the  vehe- 
mence of  a  man  on  the  rostrum.  He  is  carried  away 
by  his  own  eloquence ;  he  rises,  pounds  the  table, 
shakes  his  fist  at  his  adversary.  But  it  is  not  a  quar- 
rel. His  adversary  is  not  excited ;  he  sits  perfectly 
calm,  as  the  listeners  do ;  and  then  in  turn  he  works 
himself  up  into  a  paroxysm  of  communication.  Occa- 
sionally they  all  talk  together,  and  it  looks  like  a  row, 
and  sounds  like  one.  At  the  first  occurrence  of  this 
phenomenon  I  expected  trouble,  and  was  surprised  to 
see  that  nothing  came  of  it,  for  the  talkers  subsided, 
and  left  the  table  together  in  a  friendly  manner. 
This  exuberance  gives  a  zest  to  dining. 

Cordova  is  not  quite  the  deadest  city  in  Spain,  but 
it  rubs  Toledo  very  hard.  If  there  were  to  be  a  fair 
and  a  competition  for  civic  deadness,  it  is  difficidt  to 
predict  which  city  would  win  the  prize.  They  would 
both  deserve  it,  or  at  least  honorable  mention.  Cor- 
dova, however,  is  not  buried,  and  it  is  not,  like  Toledo, 
a  mass  of  decay.  It  has  simply  stopped  in  a  decent 
commonplaceness ;  it  does  not  apparently  do  anytliing; 


RANDOM  SPANISH  NOTES.  oil 

it  has  a  vacation.  It  is  ^vl^itewaslled,  and  clean 
enough.  But  the  streets  are  vacant,  and  there  is  a 
suspicion  of  gi-ass  growing  up  between  the  stones. 
The  fifty  thousand  people  here  ought  to  he  lively 
enough  to  keep  it  down,  but  there  seems  to  be  nothing 
to  be  lively  about.  And  yet  if  the  tourist  only  had 
time  to  take  in  the  fact,  this  is  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting cities  in  Spain.  No  other,  not  Seville,  pre- 
serves so  much  in  its  houses  the  Moorish  appearance, 
which  is  the  charm  of  Sj)ain  wherever  it  exists.  It  is 
a  great  pleasure  to  stroll  about  the  echoing  streets  and 
note  the  old-time  beauty  of  the  dwellings.  Cordova 
—  Karta-tu'ba,  an  "  important  city  "  —  had  a  million 
of  inhabitants  from  the  ninth  to  the  twelfth  century, 
nine  hundred  baths,  six  hundred  inns,  and  three  him- 
dred  mosques.  Seneca  was  born  here,  and  Lucan, 
and  Thomas  Sanches,  the  Jesuit  author  of  "  De  Mat- 
rimonio;"  and  here  Gonzalo  de  Cordova,  the  great 
captain,  was  baptized.  It  was  once  the  capital  of 
Moorish  Spain,  an  independent  Khalifate ;  in  art  and 
letters  an  Athens ;  in  wealth,  refinement,  and  luxury 
the  Paris  of  the  time,  with  an  added  Oriental  splen- 
dor ;  a  place  of  pilgrimage  for  the  occidental  world 
only  less  sacred  than  Mecca. 

Cordova  has  now  to  show  the  unique  mosque,  one 
of  the  most  interesting  buildings  in  the  world,  the 
monument  of  Moorish  genius  and  magnificence,  and 
a  monumental  statue,  El  Tiiunfo^  —  an  mcongruous 
pile  surmounted  by  Eafael,  the  patron  saint  of  the 
city,  easily  the  worst  statue  in  Europe,  and  a  witness 


312     NOTES    OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

of  Spanish  taste.  Tliis  monument  stands  down  by  tlie 
great  stone  bridge  over  the  Guadalquivir,  from  which 
the  lounger  has  an  admirable  view  of  the  i^icturesque 
old  town. 

The  Great  Mosque  was  begun  in  786  by  Abdu-r- 
rahma  I.,  who  determined  to  build  the  finest  mosque 
in  the  world;  but  even  his  splendid  edifice  was  greatly 
enlarged  in  the  tenth  century.  There  was  an  era  of 
good  feeling  between  the  Church  and  Islam  in  those 
days.  Before  this  mosque  was  built,  Christians  and 
Moslems  amicably  occupied  different  parts  of  the 
same  basilica,  and  when  the  Caliph  wanted  to  enlarge 
he  bought  out  the  Christians.  Leo,  Emperor  of 
Constantinople,  sent  one  hundred  and  forty  precious 
antique  columns  for  the  new  building,  and  Greek  ar- 
tists to  decorate  it ;  and  when  Cordova  was  conquered 
by  the  Christians,  I  believe  that  for  some  time  the 
two  religions  held  worship  in  this  edifice.  It  occupies 
the  whole  of  a  vast  square.  The  exterior  walls,  six 
feet  in  thickness,  and  from  thirty  to  sixty  feet  high, 
with  buttressed  towers  and  richly  carved  portals  to  the 
different  entrances,  is  the  fuiest  specimen  of  this  sort 
of  work  existing.  Nearly  a  third  of  the  great  square 
is  occupied  by  the  open  Court  of  Oranges,  the  abode, 
it  will  be  remembered,  of  Irving's  wise  parrot,  who 
knew  more  than  the  ordinary  doctor  of  law ;  still  a  de- 
lightful grove  of  oranges,  with  great  fountains,  where 
the  jjious  and  the  idle  like  to  congregate.  From  this 
there  were  nineteen  doors,  —  aU  now  walled  up  ex- 
cept three,  —  opening  directly  into  the  sacred  mosque. 


RANDOM  SPANISH  NOTES.  313 

With  all  these  openings,  added  to  the  entrances  on 
the  other  three  sides,  to  admit  freely  light  and  air, 
and  to  permit  the  light  to  play  on  its  polished  col- 
umns, what  a  cheerful  and  beautiful  interior  it  must 
have  been  !  And  what  a  bewildering  sight  it  is  yet ! 
The  roof  is  low,  not  above  thirty-five  feet  high,  and 
originally  it  was  all  flat.  The  area  is  about  three  hun- 
dred and  ninety-four  feet  east  and  west,  by  five  hun- 
dred and  fifty-six  feet  north  and  south,  and  it  is  liter- 
ally a  forest  of  columns.  Of  the  original  1,200,  1,096 
still  stand ;  the  others  were  removed  to  make  room 
for  the  elaborate  choir  erected  in  the  centre,  which  de- 
stroys the  great  sweep  of  pillars  and  much  of  the  for- 
est effect.  It  is  fit  to  make  a  body  weep  to  see  how 
the  Christians  have  abused  this  noble  interior.  It 
would  have  been  more  excusable  if  it  had  been  done 
by  early  Christians,  to  whom  we  pardon  everything ; 
but  it  was  not :  it  was  done  by  late  and  a  poor  kind 
of  Christians.  These  columns,  all  monoliths,  and  all 
made  to  appear  of  uniform  height  by  sinking  the 
longer  ones  in  the  floor,  were  the  spoils  of  heathen 
temples  in  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa.  Many  came 
from  Nimes  and  Narbonne,  some  from  Seville  and 
Tarragona,  numbers  from  Constantinople,  and  a  great 
quantity  from  Carthage  and  other  ancient  cities  of  Af- 
rica. They  are  all  of  choice  and  some  of  them  of  rare 
marbles,  jasper,  porphyry,  verd-antique,  and  all  were 
originally  highly  polished,  and  many  still  retain  their 
lustre.  They  might,  with  a  little  labor,  be  made  again 
to  shine  like  gems.     From  tlie  carved  capitals  of  these 


314     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

columns  spring  round  Moorish  arches,  painted  in  red 
and  white,  which,  seen  in  any  diagonal  view,  interlace 
like  ribbons,  and  produce  a  surprising  and  charming 
effect. 

This  mosque  was  called  Zeca,  the  house  of  purifi- 
cation ;  it  was  equal  in  rank  to  Al  Aksa  in  Jerusa- 
lem, and  its  shrine  of  pilgrimage  was  second  only  to 
the  Kaaba  at  Mecca.  If  the  traveler  chooses  to  walk 
seven  times  around  the  lovely  little  chapel  in  the  cen- 
tre, once  the  holy  of  holies,  he  will  tread  in  a  well- 
worn  path  in  the  stone  made  by  tens  of  thousands  of 
Moslem  pilgrim  feet.  This  chapel  and  the  Mihrab 
are  brilliant  with  mosaics,  and  fine  carving  in  stone, 
and  stucco  ornamentation.  I  have  heard  some  critics 
contrast  the  lowness  of  this  edifice  with  the  springing 
aspiration  of  the  Gothic  cathedrals,  and  say  that  it 
oppressed  them ;  but  it  is  one  of  the  wonders  of  the 
world. 

Toledo,  so  often  figured  and  described,  I  am  sure 
needs  no  description  from  me.  Everybody  knows  that 
it  stands,  with  its  crumbling  walls  and  towers  and  de- 
caying palaces,  on  a  high  hill  of  rock  perpendicular 
on  three  sides,  and  that  the  muddy  Tagus  flows  around 
it  in  a  deep  ravine,  making  it  almost  an  island.  I 
walked  and  scrambled  entirely  around  it  one  day,  — 
not  on  the  city  side,  for  that  is  impossible,  but  on  the 
high  overlooking  hills  circling  it  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  river,  —  and  marked  well  its  ramparts  and  tow- 
ers. I  could  n't  throw  an  orange  into  it  from  the  en- 
circling hills,  but  from  this  vantage  ground  artillery 


RANDOM  SPANISH  NOTES.  815 

coiikl  quickly  reduce  it  to  a  stone  heap.  But  I  do  not 
know  as  that  would  much  change  the  exterior  appear- 
ance of  the  city.  Nothing  in  the  world  looks  so  old, 
scarred,  and  battered. 

Within  it  is  the  city  of  silence.  Not  in  Karnak  is 
this  silence,  if  one  may  say  so,  more  audible  to  the  lis- 
tening- ear.  There  are  no  carriages,  except  the  omni- 
bus that  took  us  up  from  the  station,  over  the  bridge 
Alcantara  —  the  high  arch  beneath  which  flows  the 
rapid  Tagus  —  and  through  the  Moorish  Gate  of  the 
Sun,  and  this  can  make  its  way  only  in  a  few  of  the 
streets  ;  the  others  are  too  steep,  too  narrow,  too  rough. 
There  is  no  traffic,  and  the  footfalls  have  little  echo  in 
the  deserted  streets.  But  what  a  museum  of  the  pic- 
turesque it  is,  this  stately  widow,  as  somebody  calls  it, 
of  two  dynasties,  with  the  remains  of  noble  facades 
and  the  loveliest  carved  portals  and  recesses  and  win- 
dows !  Everywhere  Moorish  suggestion  and  ISIoorish 
fancy,  a  perpetual  charm.  The  tourist  goes  hunting 
eveiywhere  for  the  remains  of  Saracen  genius,  and 
prizes  every  broken  tile,  stuccoed  room,  ornamented 
wall  and  ceiling,  and  quaintly  carved  door- way. 

Ah,  well,  this  is  not  a  guide-book.  We  stayed, 
while  we  were  in  Toledo,  with  the  sisters  Figueroa,  de- 
scendants, I  believe,  of  a  noble  house^  who  dwell  in  a 
ramblino-  hioh,  and  oaunt  tenement  that  has  seen  bet- 
ter  days,  but  not  cleaner ;  for  its  entrance  steps  are 
scrubbed,  its  bare  floors  are  scrubbed,  and  I  think  its 
hard  beds  are  scrubbed.  It  is,  after  all,  a  comfortable 
sort  of  place,  though  I  did  not  find  out  exactly  in  what 


816     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

the  comfort  consisted.     There  is  only  one  other  place 
of  entertainment  in  the  whole  city,  the  inn,  and  we 
were  zealously  warned  against  that  by  all  the  travelers 
we  saw  who  had  preceded  us.     On  coming  away,  we 
warned  people  against  the  Figueroa.     It  was  the  least 
we  could  do.     And  yet  we  did  it  with  humorous  re- 
gret ;  for  the  ancient  maiden  sisters  were  neat.     Ah, 
if  they  had  only  given  us  anything  we  could  eat ;  if 
they  had  not  served  our  morning  coffee  and  bread  on 
an  old  salver  rusty  with  age,  and  not  too  clean,  and 
the  rusty  old  coffee-pot  had   had    a  handle,  and  the 
bread  had  been  sweet,  how  different   it  would   have 
been  !     We  took  a  liking  to  these  venerable  virgins, 
although  they  were  churlish   and   unaccommodating, 
and  treated  our  humble  requests  for  certain  conven- 
iences with  lofty  scorn.     But  pride  and  hotel-keeping 
must  go  together  in  Spain.     They  must  have  had  good 
hearts,  these  women,  although  they  were  not  liberal, 
for  they  kept  the  house  full  of  pets,  —  quail  that  were 
always  whistling,  and  doves  that  were  always  loudly 
cooing,  especially  when  we  wished  to  sleep  in  the  morn- 
ing.    We  took  our  frugal  repasts  in  their  neat  and 
stuffy  little  sitting-room.     There  was  not  a  book  or  a 
newspaper  in  the  house  (in  sight),  but  the  walls  were 
covered  with  trumpery  pictures  of  saints  and  madon- 
nas.    In  the  little  sitting-room,  where  the  sisters  sat 
by  the  deep-cushioned  window  and  sewed,  there  were 
five  saints  and  eleven  madonnas.     But  most  pathetic 
of  all  was  an  Stagere,  on  wliich  these  dear  old  ladies 
(it  was  probably  our  traveled  rudeness,  and  their  keen 


RANDOM  SPANISH  NOTES.  317 

perception  of  our  ignorance  of  what  was  good  enough 
food  for  anybody,  that  made  them  so  angular  to  us) 
kept  the  playthings  of  their  far-away  youth,  —  their 
dolls,  their  baby-houses,  the  little  trifles  dear  to  girl- 
hood. No,  indeed,  I  would  n't  have  had  these  excel- 
lent women  different  in  any  respect,  —  not  in  Toledo. 
For  what  has  Toledo  itself  except  the  toys  of  its  youth  ? 
It  is  rather  surprising  that  Toledo  is  as  clean  as  it  is, 
as  it  has  no  water,  except  what  is  brought  up  the  steep 
hill  from  the  river  in  jars  on  the  patient  donkeys.  It 
is  in  no  danger  of  modern  improvements  and  drainage. 
I  suppose  the  rains  of  heaven  wash  it ;  and  the  snow, 
perhaps,  helps,  for  it  is  a  frightfully  cold  place  in 
winter.  But  it  makes  up  for  that  by  a  hot  summer, 
when  the  sun,  reflected  from  the  bare  rocks  about  it, 
blazes  away  at  it  without  hindrance.  Its  sole  specialty 
is  the  beautiful  niello  work,  the  inlaying  of  gold  and 
silver  in  steel,  which  is  carried  on  at  a  couple  of 
shops,  and  at  the  ancient  factory  across  the  river,  ever 
famous  for  its  high-tempered,  inlaid  Toledo  blades. 
We  made  a  journey  thither,  but  it  was  not  remunera- 
tive, except  for  its  historical  associations.  A  few  in- 
ferior arms  are  manufactured  there  ;  but  as  fine  blades 
are  probably  now  made  in  America  and  England  as 
Toledo  ever  tempered ;  and  the  inlaying  of  brooches 
and  fancy  scarf  pins  and  other  ornamental  things  is 
not  equal  to  the  ancient  work.  Still  Toledo  keeps 
something  of  its  craft  in  this  exquisite  art. 

One  hesitates  to  speak  of  the  glory  of  the  place,  the 
cathedral,  because  no  justice  can  be  done  it  in  a  par- 


318     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

agrapli ;  nor  can  any  justice  be  done  the  surly  custo- 
dians who  refused  to  let  us  see  some  of  its  locked-up 
treasures,  after  appointing-  time  after  time  for  us  to 
come.  It  was  a  mine  of  hoarded  wealth  and  art  be- 
fore it  was  plundered  by  the  French  in  1808.  The 
corner-stone  was  laid  by  Saint  Ferdinand  in  1226,  and 
it  was  completed  in  the  year  America  was  discovered ; 
but  its  enrichment  went  on,  and  the  names  of  one  hun- 
dred and  forty-nine  artists  are  given  who  for  centuries 
worked  at  its  adornment.  I  do  not  know  anywhere 
else  a  finer  example  of  the  pure,  vigorous  Gothic, 
scarcely  another  so  nobly  and  simply  impressive,  nor 
any  other  richer  in  artistic  designs.  It  satisfies  the 
mind  by  its  noble  solidity,  purity,  and  picturesqueness. 
When  you  are  in  it,  you  are  quite  inclined  to  accept 
its  supernatural  inception.  The  virgin  is  said  to  have 
come  down  from  heaven  during  its  erection,  and  the 
marble  slab  is  shown  on  which  she  stood  when  she  ap- 
peared to  Saint  Ildefonso.  But  I  do  not  see  how  that 
could  have  been,  for  the  cathedral  was  not  projected 
till  1226,  and  Saint  Ildefonso  died  in  617.  His  body, 
carried  off  during  the  Moorish  invasion,  was  recovered 
about  the  year  1270,  and  is  supposed  to  be  buried 
here.  But  I  believe  the  legend  is  thttt  the  Virgin 
made  several  appearances  liere,  and  was  present  a 
good  deal  of  the  time  during  the  building  of  the  ca- 
thedral. At  any  rate,  the  stone  is  here,  encased  in 
red  marble  in  the  rear  of  the  shrine  of  the  saint,  and 
quite  worn  with  the  kisses  of  the  believers,  who  come 
still  to  put  their  lips  on  the  exact  spot  touched  by  the 


RANDOM  SPANISH  NOTES.  319 

Virgin's  feet.  The  cathedral  has  also  a  famous  Image 
pf  the  Virgin  in  black  wood,  about  which  are  told  the 
same  legends  that  enhance  the  other  black  images  in 
Spain.  I  confess  that  I  looked  with  more  interest  at 
the  banner  which  hung  from  the  galley  of  Don  John 
of  Austria  at  the  battle  of  Lepanto.  In  this  cathedral 
also  is  the  Muzarabic  chapel,  where  the  ancient  Muz- 
arabic  ritual  is  daily  performed.  I  suppose  the  litany 
has  some  affinity  with  that  of  the  Eastern  Church  be- 
fore the  great  division.  The  Muzarabes  were  Chris- 
tian  worshipers  under  the  Moorish  rulers,  and  were 
tolerated  by  them.  I  saw  in  the  street  women  wear- 
ing yellow  flannel  petticoats,  which  are  said  to  be  the 
distimruishino:  female  dress  of  this  sect.  I  believe 
there  are  several  Muzarabic  parishes  in  Toledo,  but 
their  ritual  is  performed  only  in  this  hospitable  cathe- 
dral. It  Is  a  service  of  more  simplicity  than  that  at 
the  other  altars,  and  probably  would  be  regarded  as 
"  low  "  in  ecclesiastical  terminology.  It  is  said  that 
the  peculiar  ritual  of  this  chapel  was  established  here 
in  1512  by  Cardinal  Ximenez,  as  a  note  of  Spanish 
independence  of  the  Pope. 

Madrid,  notwithstanding  its  size  and  large  popula- 
tion —  about .  half  a  million  —  and  its  many  stately 
buildings,  a  few  brilliant  streets  and  beautiful  public 
gardens,  is  still  provincial  in  aspect.  When  I  saw 
the  ox-carts  in  the  principal  streets  I  was  reminded  of 
"Washington  before  the  war.  It  has  put  on  a  veneer 
of  French  civilization,  which  contrasts  sharply  with 
the  lingering  Spanish  rusticity  and  provincialism.     It 


320     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

has  the  air  of  a  capital  in  many  ways.  Its  hull-fights 
are  first-rate ;  as  Paris  attracts  the  best  singers,  Ma- 
drid draws  to  it  the  most  skillful  matadores.  The  Ring 
is,  I  believe,  the  largest  in  the  kingdom,  and  capable 
of  seating  fourteen  thousand  spectators.  The  fight  is 
the  great  Sunday y^fe,  at  which  the  king  and  the  royal 
family  are  always  present.  As  the  performances  are 
in  the  afternoon,  they  do  not  interfere  with  the  morn- 
ing church-going.  And  if  they  did,  an  excuse  for  it 
might  be  urged  that  Madrid  has  not  a  single  fine 
church,  and,  not  being  a  city,  it  has  no  cathedral. 
The  town  has  several  fine  libraries,  besides  the  Biblio- 
teca  Nacional,  a  sjilendid  collection  of  armor,  and  ar- 
chaeological and  other  museums  that  properly  claim 
attention.  Of  course  the  distinction  of  the  capital  is 
its  Royal  Picture  Gallery,  which  compels  and  repays 
a  pilgrimage  from  any  distance.  One  must  go  there 
to  see  Murillo,  Velasquez,  and  Ribera,  and  he  is  almost 
equally  compelled  to  go  there  for  the  study  of  the 
great  Italian  and  Flemish  masters.  The  collection 
is  so  vast  and  varied  that  after  days  of  wandering 
through  its  galleries  the  tourist  feels  that  his  acquaint- 
ance with  it  has  only  just  begun. 

Almost  no  one  speaks  well  of  the  climate  and  situa- 
tion of  Madrid.  Its  forced  location  was  the  wliim  of 
Charles  V.  The  situation  offers  no  advantages  for  a 
great  city.  It  is  built  on  a  lofty  plateau  formed  by 
several  hills  at  an  elevation  of  2,450  feet  above  the 
sea ;  but  it  is  not  picturesque,  for  its  environs  are  ster- 
ile plains,  swept  by  the  wind.     It  is  the  only  large 


RANDOM  SPANISH  NOTES.  321 

capital  that  does  not  lie  on  a  respectable  river;  the 
Manzauares  is  commonly  a  waterless,  stony  bed.     And 
yet,  having  heard  all  this  about  the  detestable  climate 
and  the  unhealthy  location,  the  traveler,  if  he  happens 
there  at  a  favorable  time  of  the  year,  will  probably  be 
surprised  at  the  cheerful  aspect  of  the  town  under  the 
deep  blue  sky.     Within  a  few  years  very  much  has 
been  done  to  beautify  it  by  planting  trees,  laying  out 
fine  parks,  and  building  handsome  villas.     It  is  amaz- 
ing what  money  can  do  in  the  way  of  transforming  a 
sterile  and  intractable  place  into  beauty.     Madrid  is 
on  the  way  to  be  a  city  of  brilliant  appearance  in  the 
modern  fashion,  though  it  is  not  yet  very  interesting 
as  a  whole.     But,  for  details,  in  Spain,  the  traveler  is 
inclined  to  resent  Paris  shop  windows  and  Paris  cos- 
tmnes.     Perhaps  the  climate  is  maligned.     From  what 
I  could  hear  I  should  judge  it  far  better  than  that  of 
Paris,  except,  perhaps,  for  a  part  of  the  summer.     Our 
minister,  Mr.  Hamlin,  told  me  that  the  winter  he  spent 
there  —  which  may  have  been  an  exception  —  he  found 
agreeable,  with  very  little  frost,  almost  constant  sun, 
and  that  it  compared  favorably  with  a  winter  in  Wash- 
mgton. 

•  The  Spanish  people,  though  reckoned  taciturn  and 
reserved  with  strangers,  have  a  Southern  demonstra- 
tiveness  with  each  other  which  does  not  shrink  from 
public  avowal.  We  had  a  pleasing  illustration  of  this 
when  we  took  the  afternoon  train  from  Madrid  for 
Zaragoza.  A  bridal  party  were  on  the  platform  in 
the  act  of  leave-taking  with  the  happy  couple,  who 

21 


322     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

entered  our  car.  The  tender  partings  at  tlie  house 
seemed  to  have  been  reserved  for  this  public  occasion. 
The  couple,  as  it  turned  out,  were  not  going  very  far, 
but  if  they  had  been  embarking  for  China  the  demon- 
strations of  affection,  anxiety,  gi'ief,  and  other  excite- 
ment could  not  have  been  more  moving  and  varied. 
There  were  those  who  wej^t,  and  those  who  put  on  an 
air  of  forced  gayety ;  and  there  was  the  usual  facetious 
young  man,  whose  mild  buffooneries  have  their  use  on 
such  occasions.  The  babble  of  talk  was  so  voluminous 
that  we  did  not  hear  the  signal  to  start,  and  as  long 
as  we  kept  the  group  in  sight  their  raised  outstretched 
hands  were  clutching  the  air  with  that  peculiar  move- 
ment of  the  fingers  which  means  both  greeting  and 
farewell  in  this  land.  The  pretty  bride,  it  soon  ap- 
peared, was  willing  to  take  all  the  world  into  confi- 
dence in  her  happiness  and  affection.  The  car  was 
well  filled,  and,  as  it  hajjpened,  it  would  have  been 
more  convenient  for  her  to  sit  opposite  her  husband 
of  an  hour.  But  this  was  not  to  be  endured.  She 
squeezed  herself  into  the  narrow  place  beside  him,  and 
began  to  pet  and  fondle  him  in  a  dozen  decent  ways, 
in  the  most  barefaced  and  unconscious  manner.  The 
rest  of  us  were  as  if  we  did  not  exist,  and  it  was  in 
vain  that  we  looked  out  of  the  window  in  token  of  our 
wish  to  efface  ourselves  in  the  presence  of  so  much 
private  hai)piness.  She  could  not  keep  either  hands 
or  eyes  off  him.  And  why  shoidd  she?  He  was  hers, 
and  for  life,  and  we  were  mere  accidents  of  the  hour. 
The  assertion  of   her  possession  embarrassed  us,  but 


RANDOM  SPANISH  NOTES.  323 

the  square-faced  and  somewhat  phlegmatic  young  gen- 
tleman took  it  as  of  right  and  in  a  serene  conscious- 
ness of  merit.  Opposite  this  delightful  couple,  who 
were  entering  Paradise  by  such  a  public  door,  sat  the 
beau-ideal  of  a  Spanish  gentleman  and  grandee — tall, 
slender,  grave,  kindly,  high-bred  almost  to  the  point 
of  intellectual  abdication  —  and  his  handsome  young 
son,  a  most  graceful  and  aristocratically  marked  lad, 
with  the  signs  of  possibly  one  step  farther  in  the  way 
of  vmvigorous  refinement;  resembling  very  much  in 
air  and  feature  the  young  Prince  Imperial  who  was 
killed  in  Africa :  charming  people,  mth  a  delicate 
courtesy  and  true,  unselfish  politeness,  as  we  discov- 
ered afterwards.  I  watched  to  see  what  effect  this 
demonstration  of  national  manners  had  upon  them : 
and  I  am  glad  to  say  that  their  faces  were  as  impas- 
sive as  if  they  had  been  marble  images.  We  all,  I 
trust,  looked  unconscious,  and  perhaps  we  shoidd  idti- 
mately  have  become  so  if  the  doting  pair  —  God  bless 
their  union,  so  auspiciously  begun !  —  had  not  de- 
scended from  the  car  in  a  couple  of  hours  at  a  little 
way-station.     I  hope  she  did  not  eat  him  up. 

Somehow  this  little  episode  put  us  all  in  good  hu- 
mor, and  made  us  think  better  of  the  world  as  we 
journeyed  on  in  the  night  through  a  country  for  the 
most  part  dreary,  and  came  at  midnight  to  Zaragoza, 
and  even  brought  us  into  the  right  sentimental  mood 
to  enjoy  the  moonlight  on  the  twelve  tiled  domes  of 
the  Cathedral  El  Pilar,  as  we  rattled  in  an  omnibus 
over  the  noble  stone  bridge  across  the  swift,  broad. 


32J:     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

muddy  Ebro,  —  the  most  considerable  and  business- 
like river  we  had  seen  in  Spain.  Zaragoza  pleased  us 
in  a  moment  by  its  quaint  picturesqueness  and  somno- 
lent gravity.  My  room,  in  the  rear  of  the  hotel, 
looked  upon  a  narrow  street  inclosed  by  high  build- 
ings, and  was  exactly  opposite  a  still  narrower  street, 
into  which  the  high  moon  threw  heavy  shadows  from 
the  tall  houses.  The  situation  was  full  of  romantic 
suggestions,  and  I  was  familiar  with  just  such  scenes 
in  the  opera.  As  I  looked  from  my  window,  before 
going  to  bed,  a  brigand  in  a  long  cloak  and  sombrero, 
carrying  a  staff  in  one  hand  and  a  lantern  in  the 
other,  came  slowly  through  this  street,  set  his  lantern 
down  at  the  junction  of  the  two  streets,  looked  care- 
fully up  and  down,  and  then  in  a  musical  tenor  sang 
the  song  of  the  watchman,  —  "  Half-past  one  o'clock, 
and  fine  weather."  Then  he  took  up  his  lantern  and 
glided  away  to  awake  other  parts  of  the  town  with  his 
good  news. 

We  found  Zaragoza  exceedingly  attractive  in  its 
picturesque  decay.  Nowhere  else  did  we  see  finer 
medifeval  palaces,  now  turned  into  rookeries  of  many 
tenements  and  shops.  We  were  always  coming  upon 
some  unexpected  architectural  beauty,  as  we  wan- 
dered about  the  narrow  streets  of  high  houses.  Of 
the  two  cathedrals,  the  old  one,  La  Seo,  is  the  most 
interesting.  It  has  a  curious,  lofty  octagonal  tower, 
with  Corinthian  columns,  drawn  out  like  a  jointed  tele- 
scope, and  on  one  side  some  remarkable  brick-work 
of  the  fourteenth  centuiy,  inlaid  with  Moorish  tiles, 


RANDOM  SPANISH  NOTES.  325 

variegated  in  color.  But  El  Pilar,  modern  and  ugly 
within,  attracts  most  worshipers,  for  there  is  the  ala- 
baster pillar  upon  which  the  Virgin  stood.  A  costly- 
chapel  is  erected  over  it,  and  upon  it  stands  the  black- 
wood  image  of  the  Virgin,  blazing  with  jewels.  The 
pillar  cannot  be  seen  from  the  front,  but  a  little  of  it 
is  visible  in  the  rear,  and  this  spot  is  kissed  by  a  con- 
stant stream  of  worshipers  all  day  long.  This  pillar 
and  figure  is  the  great  fact  in  Zaragoza ;  it  is  its  most 
sacred  and  consoling  possession.  Many  shops  are  de- 
voted to  the  manufacture  and  sale  of  representations 
of  it,  so  that  this  seemed  to  be  the  chief  industry  of 
the  city. 

The  Maid  of  Zaragoza  is  not  much  attended  to,  and 
it  was  difficult  to  get  any  traces  of  her,  or  to  make  her 
very  real.  We  could  not  even  determine  the  exact 
place  of  her  heroic  fight  during  the  siege  by  the 
French  in  1809.  It  was  somewhere  near  the  south- 
west gate  of  the  city.  Here,  says  the  guide-book, 
which  calls  this  heroine  "an  Amazon,  and  a  mere 
itinerant  seller  of  cooling  drinks,"  —  "here,  Augus- 
tina,  the  Maid  of  Zaragoza,  fought  by  the  side  of  her 
lover,  —  an  artilleryman,  —  and  when  he  fell,  mor- 
tally wounded,  snatched  the  match  from  his  hand  and 
worked  the  gun  herself."  For  all  that,  this  plebeian 
maid,  who  has  an  immortal  niche  in  poetry,  may  out- 
last Zaragoza  itself,  or  suffice  to  preserve  its  memory. 

Traveling  towards  Tarragona,  we  found  dull  scenery 
and  a  waste  country.  The  land  is  worn  in  ragged 
gullies,  and  at  intervals  are  mounds  of  earth,  as  if  left 


326     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

by  tlie  action  of  water,  tliat  looked  artificial,  square- 
topped,  with  a  button-like  knob,  —  a  singidar  forma- 
tion. Now  and  then  we  had  a  glimpse  of  an  old  castle 
perched  on  a  hill.  At  Lareda  a  genuine  surpi^ise 
awaited  us,  —  the  best  brealifast  we  had  in  Spain. 
It  seems  voracious  to  say  it,  but  it  is  in  human  nature 
to  be  pleased  with  something  really  appetizing  after 
two  months  of  privation.  The  character  of  the  cos- 
tume changed  here.  The  peasants  wore  sandals,  often 
without  stockings.  The  men  sported  the  dull  red,  or 
purple,  Phrygian  cap,  hanging  well  in  front.  The 
women  wore  no  distinguishing  costume,  miless  plain- 
ness of  face  is  a  distinction  among  the  sex,  and  were 
more  hard-featured  than  their  soft  southern  sisters. 
Here  is  a  different  and  a  more  virile  race,  for  we  are 
in  Catalonia.  As  we  approach  Tarragona  the  country 
is  very  much  broken  into  narrow  valleys  and  hills,  but 
all  highly  cultivated.  Everything  is  dry  and  dusty. 
There  is  no  grazing  ground  or  grass,  but  vineyards, 
mulberry-trees,  and  pomegranates. 

Tarragona  is  set  on  a  hill,  and  from  the  noble  ter- 
race, opening  out  from  the  Rambla,  one  of  the  chief 
streets,  six  hundred  feet  above  the  shore,  there  is  a 
magnificent  view  of  the  coast  and  the  sea.  The  city 
has  a  small  harbor,  protected  by  a  long  mole.  The 
commanding  position,  the  dry  air,  the  lovely  winter 
climate,  and  the  historic  interest  of  the  place  cause 
Tarrajrona  to  be  recommended  for  a  winter  residence. 
But  I  should  think  it  would  be  dull.  There  is  too 
much  of  a  decayed  and  melancholy,  deserted  air  about 


RANDOM  SPANISH  NOTES.  327 

it.  We  had  another  surprise  here,  not  so  much  in 
the  excellence  of  the  hotel  in  which  we  stayed  as  in 
the  civility  of  the  landlord.  But  our  hopes  were 
dashed  of  making  the  amende  to  Spain  in  this  respect, 
when  we  found  that  he  was  an  Italian, 

If  not  for  a  whole  winter,  Tarragona  might  detain 
the  traveler  interested  for  many  days,  for  it  is  exceed- 
ingly picturesque,  inside  and  out.  I  made  the  circuit , 
of  its  high  but  somewhat  dilapidated  walls,  and  marked 
the  enormous  stones  laid  in  it.  Within,  the  houses 
are  built  close  to  the  wall,  and  occasionally  windows 
are  cut  through  it,  —  a  very  good  use  for  these  medi- 
aeval defenses.  There  are  ruins  of  old  fortifications 
on  the  hill  back  of  the  town,  and  I  believe  that  the 
town  is,  in  show  at  least,  very  well  fortified ;  but  we 
did  not  inquire  into  it,  having  no  intention  of  taking 
it.  The  cathedral,  high  up,  and  approached  by  a  ma- 
jestic flight  of  steps,  sustains  its  reputation,  on  ac- 
quaintance, as  one  of  the  noblest  Gothic  edifices  in 
Spain.  We  were  especially  detained  by  the  wonderful 
archaic  carving  all  over  the  interior.  Attached  is  a 
pretty  garden  with  fine  cloisters,  Moorish  windows  and 
arches,  and  the  quaintest,  most  conceit-full,  and  amus- 
ing carving  in  the  world.  We  wanted  to  bring  away 
with  us  the  gigantic  iron  knocker  on  the  cathedral 
door,  —  a  ha,mnier  striking  the  back  of  a  nondescript 
animal.  On  an  unfortunate  afternoon,  we  were 
roughly  jolted  in  a  rattling  omnibus  — the  only  vehicle 
we  could  procure  —  three  miles  along  the  shore  over 
a  wretched  road,  enveloped   in  clouds  of  dust,  to  a 


328     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

grove  of  small  pines,  to  see  what  is  called  Scipio's 
Tower.  I  wished  we  had  never  had  anything  more  to 
do  with  it  than  Scipio  had.  And  jet  the  view  from 
there  of  the  rock-built  city,  with  its  walls  sloping  to 
the  ever-fascinating  sea,  and  the  line  of  purple  coast, 
will  long  endure  in  the  memory. 

To  come  to  Barcelona  is  to  return  to  Europe. 
Signs  of  industry  multiply  as  we  approach  the  town. 
The  land  is  more  highly  and  carefully  cultivated  than 
elsewhere  in  Spain,  but  the  absence  of  grass  and  the 
exposure  of  the  red  earth  give  the  country  a  scarred, 
ragged,  and  raw  appearance,  which  the  vines  and  the 
few  olive-trees  do  not  hide.  There  is  nothing  to  com- 
pensate the  Northern-bred  eye  for  the  lack  of  grass 
and  the  scarcity  of  foliage. 

Barcelona  is  the  only  town  in  Spain  where  the  in- 
habitants do  not  appear  self-conscious,  the  only  one 
that  has  at  all  the  cosmopolitan  air.  The  stranger  is 
neither  stared  at  nor  regarded  with  suspicion.  The 
people  are  too  busy  to  mind  anything  but  their  own  af- 
fairs, yet  not  too  busy  to  be  courteous  and  civil,  after 
the  manner  of  people  who  know  something  of  the 
world,  and  there  is  a  bright  vivacity  in  the  place  which 
is  very  takmg.  We  saw  here,  however,  the  first  time 
on  this  abstemious  peninsula,  a  man  drunk  on  the 
street.  Only  once  before  had  we  seen  any  persons  in- 
toxicated, and  they  were  a  party  of  young  gentlemen 
accompanying  ladies  through  the  Escorial,  who  had 
taken  so  much  wine  at  dinner  that  even  the  gloom  of 
that  creation  of  a  gloomy  mind  had  no  sobering  effect 


RANDOM  SPANISH  NOTES.  329 

on  them.  The  traveler  who  has  been  told  that  Barce- 
lona is  too  modern  and  commercial  to  interest  him  will 
be  agTceably  disappointed.  If  he  likes  movement  and 
animation  he  will  find  it  in  the  chief  street  of  the  place, 
the  Rambla,  a  broad  thoroughfare  which  runs  from 
the  port  entirely  through  the  city,  planted  with  trees, 
and  having  in  the  centre  a  wdde  trottoir,  which  is 
thronged  day  and  night  with  promenaders.  On  Sun- 
day and  Wednesday  mornings  it  offers  a  floral  show 
which  is  unequaled.  On  one  side  are  disjilayed  broad 
banks  of  flowers,  solid  masses  of  color,  extending  for 
something  like  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  —  roses,  carnations, 
violets,  and  so  on,  each  massed  by  its  kind  in  brilliant 
patches ;  and  the  buyers  walk  along  from  bank  to 
bank  and  make  up  their  bouquets  with  the  widest 
range  for  selection.  If  the  traveler  cares  for  shopping 
he  w^ill  find  dazzling  shops  on  the  San  Fernando,  and 
he  may  amuse  himself  a  long  time  in  front  of  the  fan 
and  lace  windows.  As  a  rvde,  the  ^vindows  of  Span- 
ish shops  do  not  make  a  very  attractive  display,  and 
the  hunter  after  bricabrac  and  curios  seems  to  be 
gleaning  in  a  field  that  has  been  pretty  w^ell  ransacked. 
But  everpvhere  in  Seville,  Madrid,  and  Barcelona  the 
most  handsome  windows  are  those  filled  with  painted 
fans.  Their  prominence  is  a  sign  of  the  universal  pas- 
sion for  these  implements  of  coquetry.  Barcelona  is 
the  centre  of  the  lace  manufactory,  especially  the  ma- 
chine-made. The  traveler  is  also  told  that  he  can  buy 
there  better  than  elsewhere  the  exquisite  blonde,  which 
is  made  by  hand.     But  it  is  like  going  to  the  seaside 


330     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

for  fish.  The  finest  blonde,  of  which  very  little  is  pro- 
duced in  comparison  with  the  black,  is  sent  to  foreign 
markets,  and  in  the  three  largest  depots  of  hand-made 
blonde  lace  we  found  only  one  sample  in  each,  of  the 
best. 

The  old  part  of  the  town  will,  however,  most  attract 
the  Northern  wanderer,  and  if  he  has  heard  as  little  as 
we  had  of  the  cathedral  he  has  a  siu-prise  in  store  for 
him.  Its  wide  and  lofty  nave  is  exceedingly  impres- 
sive, and  the  slender  columns  supporting  the  roof  give 
it  a  pleasing  air  of  lightness  and  grace.  There  is  also 
much  rich  ornamentation,  and  the  stained  glass  is  su- 
perb. The  lover  of  old  iron-work  will  find  it  difficult 
to  tear  himself  away  from  the  cloisters,  where  he  will 
see  an  infinite  variety  of  designs  and  exquisite  execu- 
tion. The  cloisters  and  garden,  with  flowers  and 
fountain  and  orange-trees,  are  altogether  delightful. 
On  one  side  is  the  court  of  the  tailors,  where  the 
knights  of  the  shears  lie  buried  under  the  pavement, 
with  the  crossed  shears  cut  in  the  stones,  as  honorable 
a  symbol  of  industry  as  crossed  swords  elsewhere. 
The  shoemakers  also  come  to  honor  in  this  democratic 
resting-place,  —  God  rest  their  souls !  —  and  the  em- 
blem of  the  boot  speaks  of  a  time  when  honest  work 
was  not  ashamed  to  vaunt  itself. 

It  was  the  eve  of  Corpus  Christi,  and  the  quaint 
old  court  was  beautifully  decorated  and  garlanded 
with  flowers.  An  eg^  was  dancing  on  the  fountain 
jet,  and  all  the  children  of  the  town  seemed  to  be  there, 
watching  the  marvel  with  sparkling  eyes,  while  a  dozen 


RANDOM  SPANISH  NOTES.  331 

artists  were  sketching  the  lively  scene.  The  proces- 
sion next  day,  which  moved  after  a  solemn  service 
in  the  cathedral,  showed  remnants  of  the  mingling  of 
mediseval  facetiousness  with  the  religious  pageantry. 
The  principal  figures  were  the  King  and  Queen  of 
Aragon,  gigantic  in  size,  and  gaudy  in  mock-heroic 
apparel.  Tlie  movers  of  these  figures  were  men  who 
were  concealed  under  the  royal  skirts  and  carried  the 
vast  frame- work  on  their  shoidders.  The  tetering  mo- 
tion of  the  queen,  so  incongruous  with  her  size  and 
royal  state,  called  forth  shouts  of  laughter.  A  very 
pretty  sight  was  the  troop  of  handsome  boys  on  horse- 
back, who  followed  their  majesties,  beating  drums. 
Two  of  them  wore  white  wigs  and  gowns  of  scarlet 
velvet  trimmed  with  gilt,  and  rode  white  horses  with 
similar  caparison.  Four  other  boys  were  more  elabo- 
rately appareled.  They  were  clad  in  red  caps  with 
blue  tops  and  white  feathers,  a  blue  satin  blouse,  a 
belt  of  yellow,  yellow  breeches,  scarlet  hose,  shoes  laced 
with  blue,  and  on  the  breast  a  shield  of  gold  with  the 
cross.  The  admiration  of  the  crowd  seemed  to  nurse 
the  spiritual  pride  of  these  boys,  who  bore  themselves 
with  a  haughty  air.  We  fancied  that  the  Catalonians, 
who  are  politically  turbulent  and  independent,  rather 
delighted  in  the  exhibition  of  mock  royalty  made  by 
the  King  and  Queen  of  Aragon. 

We  left  the  cheerful  town  in  the  enjoyment  of  this 
curious  pageant.  Almost  immediately  the  railway 
train  took  us  into  a  new  region.  The  character  of 
the  landscape  whoUy  changed.      Grass  appeared,  the 


332     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY, 

blessed  green  turf,  and  trees.  The  eartli  was  clothed 
again.  And  with  whatever  sentimental  regrets  we 
left  the  land  of  romance,  the  verdure  so  delighted  the 
eye  that  it  was  like  entering  Paradise  to  get  out  of 
Spain. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


Wagner's  parsifal. 


It  is  the  purpose  of  tliis  paper  to  give  the  impres- 
sion made  by  the  performance  of  Parsifal  at  Baireuth, 
last  summer,  in  view  of  certain  strictures  upon  the 
motive  of  the  drama,  and  without  any  attempt  at  mu- 
sical criticism.  In  order  to  do  this,  I  shall  have  to 
run  over  the  leading  features  of  the  play,  already 
given  in  the  newspapers.  Criticism  enough,  and  of  an 
unfavorable  sort,  there  has  been,  though  I  heard  none 
of  it  in  Baireuth,  nor  ever  any  from  those  who  had 
been  present  at  the  wonderful  festival.  Perhaps  that 
was  because  I  happened  to  meet  only  disciples  of 
Wagner.  I  fancy  that  the  professional  critics,  who  did 
publish  depreciating  comments  upon  the  new  opera, 
and  upon  Wagner's  methods  in  general,  felt  more  in- 
clined to  that  course  after  they  had  escaped  from  the 
powerful  immediate  impression  of  the  performance, 
from  the  atmosjahere  of  Baireuth,  and  begun  to  reflect 
upon  the  responsibilities  of  the  special  critics  to  the 
world  at  large,  and  what  in  particular  was  their  duty 
tovv'ards  the  whole  Wagner  movement,  assumption, 
presumption,  or  whatever  it  is  called,  than  they  did 
while   they  were   surrounded  by  the  influences   that 


334     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

Wagner  had  skillfully  brought  to  bear  to  effect  his 
purpose  on  them. 

I  have  read  two  kinds  of  criticism.  One  was  writ- 
ten by  musical  adepts,  who  had  not  heard  the  opera, 
but  who  condemned  it  on  perusal  of  the  score  and  the 
libretto  ;  declaring  the  latter  to  be  sacrilegious,  and 
the  author  to  be  a  false  prophet  among  musicians  and 
a  charlatan  among  managers.  The  other  critics,  who 
also  set  themselves  against  Wagnerism,  described  the 
performance  in  such  terms  that  all  Europe  was  more 
and  more  eager  to  see  it,  but  compounded  for  their  re- 
luctant enjoyment  by  finding  unworthy  methods  in  a 
success  they  could  not  deny.  Whatever  the  triumph 
was,  they  said  it  was  not  a  pure  musical  triumph,  but 
one  due  to  the  creation  of  special  conditions  and  fa- 
voring circumstances.  Fancy  Beethoven  pushing  his 
music  into  popular  notice  by  such  clap-trap  means  ! 

It  was  a  great  offense,  in  the  first  place,  that  Wag- 
ner should  build  his  theatre  in  the  inaccessible  Fran- 
conian  city,  —  a  city  with  scant  accommodations  for 
visitors,  and  off  the  regular  lines  of  travel.  It  was  a 
still  greater  offense  that,  after  all,  he  should  be  able 
to  attract  to  this  remote  and  provincial  place  pilgrims 
and  strangers,  not  only  from  every  country  in  Europe, 
but  from  America,  Australia,  and  India ;  and  that  the 
theatre  should  be  filled  three  nights  in  the  week  for 
three  months  by  persons  willing  to  incur  the  exj)ense 
of  a  long,  wearisome  journey,  and  to  pay  thirty  marks 
(seven  dollars  and  a  half)  for  a  scat,  at  the  end  of  it. 
A  success  of  this  sort  could  scarcelv  be  legitimate.     It 


WAGNER'S  PARSIFAL.  335 

must  be  clue  to  some  managerial  legerdemaiu  and  to  a 
misdirected  enthusiasm. 

Perhaps  if  we  knew  all  the  circumstances,  the  build- 
ing of  the  theatre  at  Baireuth  would  not  appear  to  be 
a  whim  of  arbitrariness.  Years  ag^o  the  Kins:  of  Ba- 
varia  desired  to  erect  a  theatre  in  Munich,  on  the  hill 
over  the  Iser.  He  was  so  bitterly  opposed  in  the  lo- 
cation of  the  building  by  the  citizens  of  Munich  that 
he  abandoned  the  purpose,  and  began  the  construction 
of  a  play-house  to  suit  himself,  elsewhere.  The  new 
theatre  would  have  been  so  well  adapted  to  Wagner's 
purposes  that  it  may  be  doubted  if  Wagner  would 
have  set  up  his  standard  at  Baireuth,  if  the  Munich 
project  had  been  carried  out. 

Yet  it  must  be  owned  that  the  quaint  little  city, 
which  owes  so  much  of  its  romantic  interest  to  Fred- 
erick's sister,  the  Margravine,  has  advantages  in  its 
very  remotenesses  and  primitive  conditions.  The  rea- 
son why  Wagnei''s  operas  are  enjoyed  in  Munich,  and 
fail  to  please  in  Paris,  is  not  that  they  are  better  pre- 
sented in  Munich ;  nor  is  the  comparative  failure  in 
Paris  due  to  the  character  of  the  operas,  but  rather 
to  tlie  atmosphere  of  Paris  and  the  character  of  the 
audiences.  Parsifal  is  scarcely  better  adapted  to  the 
meridian  and  the  operatic  traditions  of  Paris  than  is 
the  Ober-Ammergau  Passion  Play. 

It  is  Wagner's  well-known  theory  of  the  opera  that 
it  should  be  something  other  than  a  series  of  airs,  sung 
by  one  or  two  or  several  persons  to  the  audiences,  with 
spaces  or  wastes  of  musical  declamation  between  ;  wif:h 


336     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

an  orchestra  merely  by  way  of  accompaniment,  and  a 
background  of  scenery  that  would  indifferently  fit  a 
dozen  plays,  and  a  plot  incoherent  and  without  any 
special  purpose.  Whether  Wagner  is  successful  or 
not  in  reducing  his  theories  to  practice  is  still  in  dis- 
pute ;  but  he  attempts  a  production  which  has  purpose 
and  unity,  and  which  excludes  everything  not  consist- 
ent with  the  effects  he  aims  at.  A  story  is  to  be  told, 
a  lesson  is  to  be  taught,  an  impression  is  to  be  pro- 
duced on  the  hearer  and  spectator  ;  and  to  this  impres- 
sion the  orchestra,  the  scenery,  and  the  singing  are  of 
almost  equal  importance.  Nothing  is  admitted  that 
does  not  forward  the  general  purpose,  and  the  unity  of 
the  story  is  not  broken  by  special  apjDeals  to  the  audi- 
ence. The  effort  is  made  to  unpress  and  stimidate  the 
imagination,  and  to  engage  the  attention  in  the  work 
as  a  whole  rather  than  in  certain  lyrical  and  melodic 
details.  Wagner  desires  to  move  in  his  audiences 
sentiments,  fervors,  aspirations,  in  particular  direc- 
tions. Why  is  it  charlatanism  in  him  to  prepare  con- 
ditions favorable  to  liis  purpose  ?  Wliy  is  it  not  le- 
gitimate that  he  should  bring  his  audiences  into  such 
a  state  of  mind,  before  the  performance  begins,  that 
they  are  predisposed  to  enjoy  the  entertainment  he  of- 
fers ?  We  know  how  much  the  appreciation  of  a  poem 
depends  upon  the  surroundings  in  which  we  read  it  or 
hear  it.  If  AVagner  has  so  contrived  it  that  his  audi- 
ences, arriving  at  the  quiet  and  primitive  city  where 
he  is  almost  worshiped,  regard  themselves  as  pilgrims 
at  a  special  festival,  and  are  in  a  receptive  state  of 


WAGNER'S  PARSIFAL.  337 

mind  before  they  enter  the  theatre  ;  if  the  theatre  it- 
self and  all  the  environments  heighten  this  impres- 
sion ;  and  if,  finally,  the  performance  itself  seems  to 
them  more  like  a  spiritual  drama  than  an  opera,  where 
is  the  charlatanism,  even  if  it  can  be  proved  that  the 
impression  is  largely  due  to  the  accessories  of  the 
music  ?  If  it  is  said  that  other  gTcat  composers  woidd 
not  have  resorted  to  such  adventitious  aids,  I  can  only 
think  that  any  composer  would  have  liked  to  command 
the  best  conditions  for  the  production  of  his  composi- 
tions. It  is  of  course  possible  that  the  crowds  at  Bai- 
reuth  were  victims  of  a  delusion,  and  of  skillful  con- 
trivance. I  can  answer  for  many  of  them  that  they 
would  like  to  be  deluded  again  in  just  that  way. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  station  in  Baireuth,  it  was 
at  once  apparent  that  the  town  was  en  fete,  and  that 
its  sole  oceu]3ation  was  the  Wagner  festival.  Our 
train,  which  had  waited  at  the  last  junction  to  bring 
hundreds  of  passengers  from  the  east,  was  an  hour  late ; 
it  was  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  perform- 
ance was  to  begin  at  four.  The  bustle  at  the  station, 
the  ubiquity  of  committee-men  and  town  officials,  the 
crowd  of  vehicles,  of  all  the  fashions  of  the  present 
and  the  last  century,  the  air  of  expectation  and  the 
excitement  were  evidence  of  the  entire  absorption  of 
the  town  in  the  great  event.  An  agricultural  fair  in  a 
New  England  village,  or  a  Fiesta  de  Toros  in  Spain, 
could  not  more  stir  a  community  into  feverish  and 
cheerful  activity.  If  the  arriving  stranger,  carpet-bag 
JH  in  hand,  had  not  the  freedom  of  the  city,  he  had  all 

22 


338     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

the  city  to  wait  on  him,  answer  his  inquiries,  and  take 
interest  in  him  as  an  intelligent  and  profitable  pilgrim. 
We  had  secured  our  tickets  by  telegraph,  and  found 
them  ready  for  us  at  the  banker's.  We  had  also  ap- 
plied to  the  burgomeister  for  accommodations  for  the 
night,  and  we  found  that  a  committee,  in  permanent 
session  at  the  station,  had  already  billeted  our  party 
at  private  houses,  to  which  we  were  j)romptly  dis- 
patched. Everything  was  so  perfectly  systematized 
that  the  wayfaring  man,  though  a  Wagnerite,  need  not 
err  therein,  and  our  quarters  turned  out  to  be  exceed- 
ingly comfortable,  and  given  at  moderate  prices.  All 
the  private  houses  of  the  place  appeared  to  be  at  the 
disposal  of  the  committee,  and  offered  without  extor- 
tion. If  the  inhabitants  were  not  all  devoted  to  Was:- 
ner,  they  were  devoted  to  his  festival,  and  the  master 
pervaded  the  town.  The  musical  works  of  Richard 
Wagner  were  everywhere  in  sight,  and  in  almost  all 
the  shop  windows  were  photographs  of  Wagner,  en- 
gravings of  Wagner,  busts  of  Wagner,  statuettes  of 
Wagner.  The  other  chief  objects  for  sale  in  the  town 
were  photographs  of  the  characters  in  Parsifal.  We 
liked  the  old  town,  at  once  for  its  quaintness  and  sin- 
gle-mindedness,  and  we  admitted  that  there  is  only  one 
Baireuth,  and  Wagner  is  its  prophet. 

The  pilgrim  to  the  shrine  of  Wagner  is  treated  like 
a  pilgrim.  He  is  expected  to  be  willing  to  put  his  de- 
votion to  a  further  test,  after  reaching  the  remote 
town ;  for  the  theatre  is  set  on  a  hill,  half  a  mile  from 
the  city,  so  that  a  carriage  is  needed  for  the  majority 


WAGNER'S  PARSIFAL.  339 

of  visitors,  especially  if  the  weather  is  rainy,  as  it  was 
the  day  of  our  arrival,  and  as  it  was  all  last  summer, 
four  days  out  of  five,  in  the  German  land.  This  hill 
places  the  spiritual  drama  one  more  remove  from  the 
bustle  of  the  sinful  world,  and  helps  to  isolate  the  per- 
formance from  ordinary  life.  The  theatre  is  an  un- 
gainly brick  building,  erected  only  with  reference  to 
the  interior  accommodations.  The  great  bulk  of  the 
stage  rises  out  of  it  in  defiance  of  all  architectural 
beauty.  The  auditorium  is  surrounded  by  an  open 
corridor,  from  which  there  are  entrances  for  every 
three  rows  of  seats.  Each  ticket  indicates  its  en- 
trance, so  that  the  audience  assembles  and  seats  itself 
without  confusion,  and  the  house  can  be  perfectly 
emptied  in  two  minutes,  without  any  danger  of  a  rush 
or  jam.  The  interior  has  been  so  often  described  that 
I  need  not  enter  into  details.  There  are  no  prosce- 
nium boxes  or  side  seats ;  the  rows  of  chairs  rise  from 
the  stage,  spread  out  like  a  haK-open  fan,  and  at  the 
back  of  the  house  are  a  row  of  private  boxes ;  above 
them  is  a  shallow  gallery.  Every  part  of  the  stage 
can  be  perfectly  seen  from  every  seat  in  the  house. 
A  low  barrier  rises  before  the  front  row  of  seats,  sep- 
arating the  auditorium  from  the  stage  by  a  consider- 
able space.  In  this  sunken  space,  hidden  completely 
from  the  audience,  is  the  orchestra.  The  house  is  al- 
most bare  of  decoration ;  only  a  cool  gray  color  per- 
vades, which  is  grateful  to  the  senses.  All  the  splen- 
dor is  reserved  for  the  stage,  which  is  of  immejisa 
proportions. 


340     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

At  four  o'clock  tlie  fifteen  hundred  seats  were  filled, 
and  a  crowd  of  persons,  said  to  be  several  hundred, 
occupied  the  standing-room  in  the  rear.  Most  of  the 
audience  were  standing,  and  the  house  was  in  a  buzz 
of  conversation  and  expectation.  Suddenly,  at  the 
stroke  of  a  stick  behind  the  scenes,  the  audience  seated 
itself ;  the  doors  were  closed,  excluding  the  light ;  the 
hall  and  the  people  were  discernible  only  in  an  ob- 
scure twilight ;  a  jDrof ound  silence  fell  upon  the  house, 
indignantly  enforced  by  a  hissing  "  hushzz  "  directed 
at  a  careless  whisperer;  and  at  another  signal  the 
prelude  began.  The  stillness  was  phenomenal,  and  so 
continued  through  the  entire  performance.  I  had  an 
impression  at  the  time  that  the  audience  was  in  a  tem- 
per to  lay  violent  hands  on  any  one  who  should  break 
the  silence  by  any  sound. 

We  sat  in  the  luminous  darkness,  and  the  prelude 
began  by  the  unseen  orchestra.  From  the  first  note 
the  music  was  striking ;  it  portended  something.  It 
may  have  been  because  the  players  were  concealed, 
but  I  seemed  to  hear  not  instruments,  but  music. 
And  this  music  had  a  supernatural  note,  an  unworldly, 
not  to  say  a  spiritual,  suggestion.  It  rose  and  fell, 
more  importunate  than  strident,  in  pleading,  in  warn- 
ing, in  entreaty.  Whether  it  was  good  music  or 
utterly  impossible  music  I  cannot  say,  owing  to  a  con- 
stitutional and  cidtivated  ignorance  of  musical  compo- 
sition ;  but  it  affected  me  now  and  again  like  the  wind 
in  a  vast  forest  of  pines  on  a  summer  day.  It  ap- 
pealed to  the  imagination,  it  excited   expectation,  it 


WAGNER'S  PARSIFAL.  341 

begat  an  indefinable  longing;  and  now  and  then  a 
minor  strain,  full  of  sadness  or  of  passion,  suggested 
a  theme,  like  the  opening  of  a  window  into  another 
world,  —  a  theme  which  was  to  be  renewed  again  and 
aaain  in  the  drama,  when  it  came  to  us  like  a  remi- 
niscence  of  some  former  life.  When  the  prelude  had 
been  prolonged  until  the  audience  were  brought  up 
to  the  highest  pitch  of  expectation,  the  great  curtains 
were  drawn  aside,  and  the  domain  of  the  Knights 
of  the  Holy  Grail,  a  peaceful,  sunny  land  of  forest, 
meadow,  lake,  and  mountain,  was  disclosed. 
-  The  composer  has  made  use  of  one  of  the  earlier 
legends  of  the  Grail,  at  the  time  when  the  cup  was 
still  in  possession  of  the  knights  appointed  to  guard 
it.  The  cup  which  had  been  drained  at  the  Passover 
feast  and  had  received  the  holy  blood  at  the  cross  was 
still  safe ;  but  the  sacred  spear,  the  spear  of  the  cross, 
which  the  heavenly  messenger  had  also  committed  to 
the  knights,  had  been  lost.  It  was  in  possession  of 
Klingsor,  a  recreant  knight,  who  inhabited  pagan 
land,  and  had  by  magic  transformed  a  waste  desert 
into  wonderful  gardens,  and  created  an  enchanted  cas- 
tle, inhabited  by  women  of  charms  infernal,  who  lured 
the  knights  to  wicked  joys  and  pains  eternal.  One  of 
the  victims  was  Amfortas,  the  king  of  the  knights, 
who  had  yielded  to  the  temptations  of  Kundry,  the 
temptress  and  the  Magdalen  of  the  play,  a  witch,  who 
was  in  the  power  of  Klingsor,  and  forced  to  do  his  bid- 
dino-.  When  Amfortas  fell  into  the  wiles  of  this  be- 
wildering  beauty,  in  one  of  his  expeditions  into  pagan 


342     NOTES  OF  A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

land,  he  was  overpowered  in  his  weakness,  lost  the 
sacred  spear,  and  received  a  grievous  wound  in  the 
side.  Of  this  wound  of  sin  he  now  languished.  All 
the  medicines  of  the  world  could  not  heal  it ;  only  in 
one  way,  by  a  man  without  sin,  could  he  be  cured. 
Meantime  the  spear  was  lost,  and  so  long  as  this 
all-conquering  weapon  remained  in  the  possession  of 
the  enemy,  the  cup  itself  was  in  danger.  Klingsor 
vaunted  his  purpose  to  seize  it.  Kundry,  at  the  open- 
ing of  the  drama,  is  a  sort  of  impish  servant  and 
messenger  of  the  knights,  a  wild,  untrained  nature, 
touched  with  remorse,  but  unable  to  repent  or  to  free 
herself  from  the  power  of  Klingsor,  and  full  of  unrest 
and  contradictory  passions. 

The  domain  of  the  knights  is  represented  by  a 
charming  scene,  simulating  nature  so  closely  that  the 
leaves  are  seen  to  quiver  on  the  forest  trees.  To  the 
audience,  looking  at  it  across  an  empty  space  and  from 
a  darkened  room,  it  has  the  delusion  of  a  tableau ;  but 
the  figures  in  it  seem  the  real  inhabitants  of  some  re- 
mote land  of  myth.  Gurnemanz,  an  aged  knight,  is 
attended  by  two  esquires.  They  are  lamenting  the 
sickness  and  wound  of  Amfortas,  and  the  danger  to 
the  Grail  from  the  loss  of  the  holy  spear.  To  them 
enters  the  wild  witch  Kundry,  fantastically  clad  in  a 
savage  garb,  with  a  snake-skin  girdle,  having  a  swarthy 
complexion,  piercing  black  eyes,  and  black  hair  flow- 
ing: in  tanoled  disorder.  She  comes  from  the  end  of 
the  earth,  riding  on  the  devil's  mare,  though,  for  once, 
not  on  the  devil's  errand.     Her  self-appointed  missiou 


WAGNER'S  PARSIFAL.  343 

has  been  to  seek  some  balm  for  the  wounded  king,  the 
victim  of  her  wiles.  She  brings  to  Gurnemanz  a  bal- 
sam from  far  Arabia,  though  well  she  knows  that  no 
balsam  can  touch  his  wound.  At  this  moment  Am- 
fortas  is  borne  in  on  a  litter,  on  the  way  to  his  bath  in 
the  sacred  spring,  the  only  alleviation  of  his  suffering. 
The  crystal  flask  containing  the  balsam  is  given  to  him, 
and  Kundry  is  bidden  to  approach.  But  the  wild  maid 
draws  away,  tortured  by  a  conscience  half  awakened, 
and  struggling  with  the  wickedness  of  her  unsubdued, 
animal  nature  ;  held  by  the  enchantment  of  Klingsor, 
and  unable  even  to  repent,  but  impelled  by  a  blind  no- 
tion of  merit  in  good  deeds  to  render  service  to  the 
knights  ;  restless,  sleepless,  pursued  by  demons,  longing 
in  her  fitful  despair  only  to  sleep,  and  to  sleep  forever, 
—  a  lost  soul  in  pitiful  helplessness  of  himian  succor. 

This  thrilling  scene,  interpreted  by  the  wailing  and 
sympathetic  orchestra,  is  at  its  height,  when  an  inter- 
ruption occurs  that  strikes  all  with  new  horror.  A 
swan  flutters  from  over  a  lake,  strives  to  fly  further, 
and  sinks  to  the  ground,  dying,  pierced  by  an  arrow. 
It  is  the  sacred  swan.  Who  has  committed  this  sacri- 
lege ?  The  murderer  appears,  a  strong,  rude  hunter, 
clad  m  skins,  his  bow  in  hand.  He  is  proud  of  his 
feat.  He  is  accustomed,  in  the  wilderness,  to  shoot 
whatever  flies.  This  is  Parsifal,  the  man  of  absolute 
nature,  without  sin  and  without  virtue,  as  ignorant  as 
he  is  innocent.  It  is  with  difficulty  that  he  compre- 
hends what  he  has  done,  and  he  slowly  understands 
the  woe  and  horror  of  the  company.     As  moral  sense 


344     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY, 

begins  to  dawn  in  his  dark  mind,  he  is  seized  with  vio- 
lent trembling,  and  falls  half  fainting.  He  breaks  his 
bow  and  casts  it  from  him.  Kundry,  at  sight  of  him, 
is  as  strongly  moved  as  he.  On  the  return  of  the  train 
of  the  king  from  the  bath,  Gurnemanz  asks  Parsifal  to 
accompany  him  to  the  holy  feast.  If  thou  art  pure, 
he  says,  surely  it  will  feed  and  refresh  thee.  What  is 
the  Grail  ?  asks  Parsifal.  The  guide  cannot  say,  but 
knowledge  is  not  hidden  to  those  who  are  bid  to  serve 
it ;  yet  to  it  no  earthly  road  leads,  and  no  one  not 
elected  can  see  it.  Gurnemanz  lays  Parsifal's  arm  on 
his  own  neck,  and,  supporting  him  with  one  arm,  leads 
him  away. 

The  two  appear  to  be  walking  slowly  through  the 
forest  to  the  left,  pausing  here  and  there  in  weariness. 
In  fact,  the  scenery  itself  is  moving  to  the  right.  The 
country  changes  its  character.  The  forest  becomes 
wilder  and  denser.  The  travelers  make  their  way 
painfully,  up  steeps  and  amid  rocks  and  fallen  trees. 
The  way  is  still  more  rocky  and  wild.  Dark  caverns 
yawn,  and  the  trees  are  more  fantastically  savage. 
The  music,  ever  graver,  and  ever  recurring  to  the 
minor  sadness,  expresses  toil,  and  the  weariness  of  the 
way,  and  the  difficulty  of  seeking.  For  moments,  be- 
hind some  giant  rock  or  cluster  of  trees,  the  two  are 
lost  to  view,  and  appear  again,  the  red  cloak  of  the 
knight  glowng  amid  the  dark  green.  As  the  travelers 
move  on,  the  scene  still  changes.  Touches  of  the  arti- 
ficial are  seen.  The  caverns  and  passages  in  the  rock 
have  been  enlarged  and  worked  by  man's  hand.     Here 


WAGNER'S  PARSIFAL.  345 

is  trace  of  an  arch,  of  cut  stone,  of  a  wall  buttress. 
We  are  passing  into  the  depths  of  the  mountain,  by  a 
way  in  which  nature  has  plainly  been  assisted.  There 
is  a  faint  sound  of  cliimes  ;  the  orchestra  itself  is  on 
the  impatient  point  of  disclosing  the  secret ;  there  is  a 
second  in  which  all  is  obscure,  and  then,  in  a  burst  of 
light,  stands  revealed  a  mighty  hall,  vast  as  a  giant 
cathedral.  The  aisles  stretch  away  in  dim  perspec- 
tive ;  the  arches  are  supported  on  lofty  columns  of 
jasper,  of  verd-antique,  of  alabaster,  of  all  precious 
marbles ;  and  above  is  a  noble  dome,  blue  and  lumi- 
nous with  golden  stars.  From  the  dome  streams  the 
light ;  from  it  floats  down  the  faint  and  fainter  peal  of 
the  chiming  beUs.  Beneath  the  dome  stands  a  long 
horseshoe  curved  table,  with  the  ends  towards  the  au- 
dience, leaving  the  centre  of  the  stage  free.  In  the 
middle  of  this  open  back-ground  is  a  high  table,  like 
an  altar,  with  steps  leading  up  to  it,  and  behind  it  is  a 
raised  couch,  with  a  canopy.  Upon  the  communion 
table  are  set  tall  silver  cups. 

From  the  far  distance  in  the  aisle  the  knights,  clad 
in  robes  of  scarlet,  enter  in  slow  and  stately  procession, 
moving  with  reverence  and  dignity,  and  chanting  as 
they  approach  the  table  and  take  their  places ;  from 
the  middle  height  of  the  hall  come  the  responsive 
voices  of  younger  knights ;  and  then  down  from  the 
very  summit  of  the  dome  float  boys'  voices.  So  angels 
might  hail  the  Supper  of  our  Lord,  leaning  over  the 
gold  bars  of  heaven.  Immediately,  from  the  other 
aisle,  enters  a  procession  of  equal  solemnity  and  splen- 


346     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

dor:  the  bearers  of  Amfortas  on  his  litter,  the  servitors 
of  the  Holy  Supper,  and  the  angelic  boys  who  carry 
and  sustain,  under  its  covering,  the  sacred  cup.  But 
for  the  intense  solemnity  of  the  scene,  one  must  note 
the  marvelous  skill  with  which  every  detail  of  it,  in 
form  and  color,  has  been  composed.  But  it  is  only 
afterwards  that  we  vividly  recall  this.  The  bearers  of 
the  cup  are  less  earthly  than  Raphael's  angels,  from 
whom  they  may  have  been  copied.  And  it  never  oc- 
curs to  you  that  they  are  stage  angels.  The  whole 
scene,  so  necessarily  theatrical  in  description,  does  not 
impress  the  spectator  so ;  the  art  of  color  and  grouping 
is  too  perfect,  the  solemnity  is  too  real.  Amfortas  is 
borne  to  the  couch  behind  the  altar.  The  holy  vessel 
is  deposited  before  him.  The  servitors  attend  with 
baskets  of  bread  and  tall  silver  flagons.  At  one  side, 
near  the  entrance  of  the  hall,  stands  Parsifal,  clad  in 
sheep-skin,  as  rigid  as  a  stone,  a  mute  and  awestruck 
spectator  of  the  scene. 

Amfortas,  stricken  with  disease  and  sin,  shrinks  from 
performing  the  ordinance.  At  length,  urged  by  the 
voices  from  heaven,  by  the  knights,  and  by  the  com- 
mand of  his  aged  father,  he  feebly  rises.  The  boys 
uncover  the  golden  shrine,  and  take  out  of  it  the  cup 
of  the  Grail,  an  antique  crystal  cup.  As  Amfortas 
bows  over  it  in  silent  prayer,  a  gloom  spreads  through 
the  room  ;  a  ray  of  light  shoots  from  above  upon  the 
cup,  which  begins  to  glow  \Ai\\  a  purple  lustre.  When 
Amfortas  raises  it  and  holds  it  high,  it  burns  like  a 
ruby,  —  it  is  the  Holy  Grail.     In  the  dusk  the  knights 


WAGNER'S  PARSIFAL.  347 

are  kneeling  and  worshiping  it.  When  he  sets  it 
down  the  glow  fades,  the  boys  replace  the  cup  in  the 
shrine,  and  the  natural  light  returns  to  the  hall.  The 
goblets  are  then  seen  to  be  filled  with  wine,  and  by 
each  is  a  piece  of  bread.  At  intervals  in  the  progTess 
of  the  supper  alternative  voices  of  youths  and  boys 
from  the  heights  chant  in  response  to  the  solemn  chorus 
of  the  knights,  and  finally  down  from  the  dome  comes 
the  benediction,  "  Blessed  belie\'ing."  During  the 
repast,  of  which  Amfortas  has  not  partaken,  he  sinks 
from  his  momentary  exaltation,  the  wound  in  his  side 
opens  afresh,  and  he  cries  out  in  agony.  Hearing  the 
cry,  Parsifal  clutches  his  heart,  and  seems  to  share  his 
agony,  but  otherwise  he  stands  motionless.  The  sup- 
per over,  Amfortas  and  the  sacred  shrine  are  borne 
away.  The  knights  rise ;  and  as  they  pass  out,  and 
meet,  two  and  two,  at  the  ends  of  the  table,  they  ten- 
derly embrace,  with  the  kiss  of  peace  and  reconciliation, 
and  slowly  depart  in  the  order  in  which  they  came. 
To  the  last  Parsifal  gazes  in  wonder ;  and  when  his 
guide  comes  to  speak  to  him,  he  is  so  dazed  that  Gurne- 
manz,  losing  all  patience  at  his  unresponsive  stupidity, 
pushes  him  out  of  the  door,  and  spurns  him  for  a  fool. 
The  curtains  sweep  together,  and  shut  us  out  from  the 
world  that  had  come  to  seem  to  us  more  real  than  our 
own. 

For  a  moment  we  sat  in  absolute  silence,  a  stillness 
that  had  been  unbroken  during  the  whole  perform- 
ance. There  was  not  a  note  of  applause,  not  a  sound. 
The  impression  was  too  profound  for  expression.    We 


348     NOTES  OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY.     ■ 

felt  that  we  had  been  in  the  presence  of  a  great  spirit- 
ual reality.  I  have  spoken  of  this  as  the  impression 
of  a  scene.  Of  course  it  is  understood  that  this  would 
have  been  all  an  empty  theatrical  spectacle  but  for  the 
music,  which  raised  us  to  such  heights  of  imagination 
and  vision.  For  a  moment  or  two,  as  I  say,  the  audi- 
ence sat  in  silence  ;  many  of  them  were  in  tears. 
Then  the  doors  were  opened ;  the  light  streamed  in. 
We  all  arose,  with  no  bustle  and  hardly  a  word 
spoken,  and  went  out  into  the  pleasant  sunshine.  It 
was  almost  a  surprise  to  find  that  there  was  a  light  of 
common  day.  We  walked  upon  the  esplanade,  and 
looked  off  upon  the  lovely  view :  upon  the  old  town  ; 
upon  the  Sophienberg  and  the  Volsbach  forests  in  the 
Franconian  Jura ;  upon  the  peaceful  meadows  and  the 
hills,  over  which  the  breaking  clouds  were  preparing  a 
golden  sunset.  We  did  not  care  to  talk  much.  The 
spell  was  not  broken.  How  long,  I  asked  a  lady,  do 
you  think  we  were  in  there?  An  hour,  nearly,  she 
thought.  We  had  been  in  the  theatre  nearly  two 
hours.     It  was  then  six  o'clock. 

On  the  esplanade  are  two  large  and  well-appointed 
restaurants,  adjuncts  to  the  theatre,  and  in  a  manner 
necessai-^y  to  it.  Wagner  understands  how  much  the 
emotional  enjoyment  and  the  intellectual  appreciation 
depend  upon  the  physical  condition,  and  he  has  taken 
pains  to  guard  his  audiences  against  both  hunger  and 
weariness.  During  the  half-hour  interval  that  elapsed 
between  the  first  and  the  second  act,  the  guests  were 
perfectly  refreshed   by  a  leisurely  stroll  in  the  open 


WAGNER'S  PARSIFAL.  349 

air,  by  the  cliarming  view,  by  the  relaxation  of  their 
intense  absorption,  by  a  cup  of  coffee  or  a  drop  of 
amber  and  perhaps  Wagnerian  beer,  or  by  a  substan- 
tial supper.  When  the  notes  of  a  silver  trumpet  sum- 
moned us  back  to  our  seats,  we  were  in  a  mood  to  en- 
joy the  play  again  with  all  the  zest  of  the  first  hour. 

The  second  act  is  of  the  earth,  earthy,  and  less  novel 
than  the  first  to  opera-goers,  accustomed  to  spectacles, 
ballets,  and  the  stage  seductions  of  the  senses.  It  is 
the  temptation  of  Parsifal,  who  has  begun  his  noviti- 
ate. The  temptation  is  wholly  of  the  senses  and  the 
passions.  The  scene  is  the  magic  castle  and  the  en- 
chanting gardens  of  the  magician  Klingsor,  —  a  scene 
of  entrancing  but  theatrical  beauty.  The  magician  is 
discovered  seated  in  the  dungeon  keep  of  his  tower, 
surrounded  by  the  implements  of  magic.  In  the 
background  is  the  mouth  of  a  black  pit.  Casting 
something  into  it,  he  summons  Kundry.  A  cloud  of 
smoke  arises  from  the  pit,  growing  luminous  and 
warming  into  rosy  color ;  and  suddenly  from  the  chasm 
rises  a  most  beautiful  female  form,  enveloped  in  a 
gauzy  tissue,  and  flushed  with  rosy  light.  It  is  Kun- 
dry, no  longer  in  her  aspect  of  witch,  but  surpassingly'- 
lovely ;  and  yet  as  unhappy  as  lovely,  and  responding 
to  the  summons  of  her  master  with  a  cry  and  look  of 
agony.  She  is  bidden  to  undertake  the  temptation  of 
Parsifal,  who  has  been  seen  from  the  ramparts  ap- 
proaching the  castle.  She  refuses.  Her  whole  nature 
abhors  the  office.  But  yield  she  must  to  the  power  of 
the  charm.   Yield  she  must,  and  exercise  all  her  power 


350     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

of  fascination  and  seduction,  tliougli  she  knows  that  it 
is  only  by  the  resistance  of  her  blandishments  that 
salvation  can  be  hers.  She  knows  that  only  by  meet- 
ing and  being  resisted  by  a  sinless  one  can  her  own 
sin  be  cured,  and  yet  she  is  forced  to  put  forth  all  her 
efforts  to  secure  her  own  ruin  and  his. 

With  a  gesture  of  protest  and  despair,  she  vanishes 
as  she  came.  The  tower  and  the  cavern  sink  away, 
and  in  place  appear,  filling  all  the  vast  stage,  a  tropi- 
cal garden,  and  the  battlements  and  terraces  of  an 
Arabian  castle.  Parsifal  stands  upon  the  wall,  look- 
ing down  upon  the  scene  in  astonishment.  From  all 
sides,  from  the  garden  and  the  palace,  rush  in  groups 
of  lovely  damsels,  arranging  themselves  in  haste,  as  if 
waked  from  sleep.  Each  one  in  her  dress  represents 
some  flower.  They  are  aw^aiting  Parsifal,  and  as  he 
descends  they  surround  him,  and  envelop  him,  and  dis- 
tract him  with  their  voluptuous  charms.  When  their 
blandishments  fail  (although  the  nmsic  pleads  in  all 
sensuous  excitement)  to  arouse  in  the  pure  youth  any- 
thing more  than  perplexity  and  wonder,  the  maidens 
leave  him  in  disgust,  and  with  the  appearance  of  the 
ravishingly  beautiful  Kundry  the  dangerous  tempta- 
tion begins. 

Gorgeous  as  is  the  scene,  and  opulent  as  are  the  fe- 
male charms  of  this  second  act,  there  is  yet  something 
of  the  cheap  and  common  about  it,  —  tawdry  si)len- 
dors,  easily  seen  to  be  the  stock  gorgeousness  and  the 
painted  temptations  of  the  stage.  This  seemed  to  me 
an  ethical  mistake  in  the  drama.     Such  a  man  as  Par- 


WAGNER'S  PARSIFAL.  351 

sifal  should  have  been  approached,  to  his  ruin,  with 
subtler  and  less  gross  allm-ements  than  these.  At 
least,  the  guileless  nature  of  Parsifal  would  have  ap- 
peared to  the  audience  in  more  danger  of  being  se- 
duced from  his  knighthood  by  the  appeals  of  beauty  to 
his  pity,  to  his  sympathy,  for  an  innocent  and  simple 
maiden,  beset  by  dangers,  and  coming  to  him  for  aid 
and  comfort ;  approaching  him  through  his  higher 
qualities,  and  flattering  him  into  forgetfulness  of  his 
mission  in  the  names  of  virtue  and  compassionate  love. 
The  devil  of  modern  society  ai3pears  to  understand 
these  thino-s  better  than  the   traditional   devil  whom 

O 

Wao-ner  consulted  for  this  scene.  The  audience  feels 
from  the  first  that  the  open  solicitations  of  Kundry 
must  fail,  and  that  Parsifal  is  in  little  danger,  even 
when  she  bends  over  him  and  impresses  upon  his  lips 
a  kiss  of  a  duration  so  long  that  the  spectator  is 
tempted  to  time  it  with  his  watch,  like  the  passage 
through  a  railway  tunnel.  From  this  embrace,  at  any 
rate,  Parsifal  starts  up  in  intense  terror,  clasping  his 
hand  to  his  side,  as  if  he  felt  the  spear-wound  of  Am- 
fortas.  I  need  not  detail  the  struggle  and  the  passion 
that  follow.  Failing  in  this  first  appeal,  the  maiden, 
too  late  in  his  aroused  suspicion,  pleads  for  his  love, 
in  that  it  alone  can  save  her ;  his  love  alone  can  re- 
deem and  pardon  her.  He  resists  also  this  more  sub- 
tle temptation.  "  Eternally  shoidd  I  be  damned  'svdth 
thee,  if  for  an  hour  I  forgot  my  holy  mission."  In 
rage  at  her  final  failure,  when  Parsifal  spurns  her  as 
a  detestable  wretch,  Kundry  curses  him,  and  calls  for 


352     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

help.  The  damsels  rush  in.  Klingsor  appears  upon 
the  battlement,  with  the  holy  spear  in  his  hand;  he 
hurls  it  at  Parsifal ;  but  the  spear  remains  floating 
above  the  latter's  head.  Parsifal  grasps  it  with  trem- 
ulous joy,  waves  it,  and  makes  with  it  the  sign  of  the 
cross.  Instantly  the  enchantment  is  broken :  down 
tumble  towers  and  castle  walls  ]  the  garden  vanishes ; 
the  leaves  and  branches  of  the  trees  strew  the  earth; 
the  damsels  lie  on  the  ground  like  sliriveled  flowers ; 
and  Kundry  falls  insensible,  and  lies  amid  the  ruins 
and  the  waste  of  the  original  desert. 

In  the  background  rises  a  path  up  a  sunny  slope  to 
a  snow  mountain.  Purity  and  nature  have  taken  the 
place  of  the  baleful  enchantment.  Parsifal  turns 
from  the  top  of  the  broken  wall,  over  which  he  disap- 
pears, to  look  upon  the  ruin  as  the  curtain  closes. 

When  the  act  ends,  the  audience,  still  under  the 
spell  of  the  music,  which  had  at  the  end  risen  out  of 
its  soft  and  siren  strains  into  a  burst  of  triumph  and 
virile  exaltation,  sat,  as  before,  silent  for  a  moment. 
Then  it  rose  en  masse,  and  turned  to  the  high  box  in 
the  rear,  where,  concealed  behind  his  friends,  Wagner 
sat,  and  hailed  him  with  a  long  tempest  of  applause. 
The  act  had  lasted  less  than  an  hour.  It  was  followed 
by  an  intermission  of  three  quarters  of  an  hour,  which 
gave  the  audience  time  for  supper,  and  for  the  refresh- 
ment of  a  stroll  and  the  soothing  effects  of  the  charm- 
ing view  in  the  fading  sunlight. 

In  the  third  and  last  act  we  return  to  the  high 
themes  of  the  first ;  the  touching  minor  strains  of  the 


WAGNER'S  PARSIFAL.  353 

prelude  recur  again  and  again,  soothing  the  spirit  agi- 
tated by  the  period  of  storm  and  stress.     The  conflict 
is  over.     We  have  passed  through  the  regions  of  tu- 
mult and  passion ;   we  have  escaped  out  of  the  hot- 
house air  of  temptation.     Penitence  is  possible,  and 
through  suffering  peace  is  dawning  with  forgiveness  in 
the  torn  and  troubled  heart.     The  orchestra  declares 
it,  and  the  scene  upon  which  the  curtain  rises  is  the 
sweet  and  restful  domain  of  the  Grail  in  the  spring- 
time of  the  year.     On  the  edge  of  the  forest,  built 
against  a  rock,  is  a  hermitage  ;  a  spring  is  near  it, 
and  beyond  stretch  flowery  meadows.     It  is  the  da-wn 
of  day,  the  sky  reddening  before  the  coming  of  the 
sun,  when  Gurnemanz,  now  extremely  aged  and  feeble, 
emerges  from  the  hut.     Attracted  by  moaning  in  the 
thicket,  he  moves  aside  the  branches,  and   discovers 
Kundry,  cold  and  stiff,  lying  in  the  hedge  of  thorns, 
which  is  little  better  than  her  grave.     He  drags  forth 
the  nearly  lifeless  form,  bears  her  to  a  mound,  chafes 
her  hands  and  temples,  calls  her  back  to  life  with  the 
news  that  the  winter  has  fled  and  the  spring  has  come. 
Slowly  the  maiden  revives,  gazes  at  him  in  wonder, 
and  then  adjusts  her  dress  and  hair,  and  without  a 
word  goes  like  a  serving-maid  to  her  work. 

To  Kundry  has  come  a  wonderful  transformation. 
The  wildness  has  gone  fi-om  her  mien  and  from  her 
eyes ;  into  her  face  has  come  the  soft,  indescribable 
light  of  penitence,  and  a  transcendent  spiritual  beauty. 
She  is  no  longer  the  fiery  witch,  full  of  disordered  pas- 
sion, contempt,  and   impish  malevolence;   she   is   no 

23 


354     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY, 

longer  tlie  liouri  of  the  enchanted  garden,  with  the 
charms  of  the  siren  and  the  bewiklering  aUurements 
of  Venus  Aphrodite.  Clad  in  the  simple  brown  garb 
of  the  penitent  Magdalen,  subdued  and  humble,  every 
movement  and  gesture  and  her  sad,  lovely  face  pro- 
claim inward  purity  and  longing  for  forgiveness. 
When  Gurnemanz  upbraids  her  for  her  silence  and 
thanldessuess  for  her  rescue  from  deathly  slumber, 
she  bows  her  head,  as  she  moves  towards  the  hut,  and 
in  a  broken  voice  murmurs,  "  Service,  service ! "  — 
her  only  exclamation  in  all  the  act. 

Kundry  comes  from  the  hut,  and  goes  towards  the 
spring  with  her  water-pot.  Looking  into  the  wood, 
she  sees  some  one  aj^proaching,  and  calls  Gurnemanz's 
attention  to  the  comer.  A  knight,  in  complete  black 
armor,  weary  and  worn,  bruised  with  conflict  and 
dusty  with  travel,  slowly  and  feebly  draws  near,  with 
closed  helmet  and  lowered  spear.  It  is  Parsifal. 
Gurnemanz,  who  does  not  recognize  him,  hails  him 
with  friendly  greeting.  Parsifal  only  shakes  his  head. 
To  aU  inquiries  he  is  silent,  and  he  is  still  speechless 
wdien  Gurnemanz  asks  him  if  he  does  not  know  what 
holy  day  has  da^vned ;  that  it  is  the  hallowed  Good- 
Friday  morn,  when  he  should  doff  his  armor,  and 
trouble  no  more  the  Master  who  has  died  for  us. 

After  an  interval,  in  which  the  music  of  the  orches- 
tra pleads  as  for  a  lost  world,  Parsifal  rises,  thrusts 
his  spear  into  the  ground,  places  against  it  his  great 
shield  and  sword,  unbraces  and  removes  his  helmet, 
and  then,  kneeling,  raises  his  eyes  in  silent  prayer  to- 


WAGNER'S  PARSIFAL.  355 

wards  tlie  spear's  head.     Gurnemanz  beckons  to  Kun- 
dry,  who  had  gone  within  the  hut.     Do  you  not  know 
him?     Kundry  assents  with  a  nod.     Surely,  'tis  he, 
—  the  fool  whom  I  drove  in  anger  from  the  hall  of 
the  knights.     In  great  emotion  Gurnemanz  recognizes 
the  holy  spear.     Kundry  turns  away  her  sad  and  long- 
ing face.      After   his    devotions    are  ended,  Parsifal 
rises,  and,  gazing  calmly  around,  recognizes    Gurne- 
manz, and  knows  where  he  is.     The  murmur  of  this 
forest,  falling  on  his  tired  senses,  gives  him  hope  that 
he  has  come  to  the  end  of  his  journey  of  error  and 
suffering.     He  has  sought  the  path  that  would  lead 
him  to  the  wounded  Amfortas,  to  whose  healing  he 
believed  himself  ordained ;  but  hitherto  that  path  has 
been  denied   him,  and  he  has  wandered  at  random, 
driven   by  a  curse,  through  countless   distresses  and 
battles,  —  wounded  in  every  fight,  since  he  was  not  fit 
to  use  the  holy  spear  which  he  bore,  undefiled,  by  his 
side.     The  ancient   knight  assures  him  that  he   has 
come  to  the  Grail's  domain,  where  the  knightly  band 
awaits  him,  with  great  need  of  the  blessing  he  brings. 
Amfortas  is  still  struggling  with  the  tortures  of  his 
wound;    the  shrine  of   the    Holy  Grail  has  long  re- 
mained shrouded  ;  the  Holy  Supper  is  no  longer  cele- 
brated ;  the  strength  of  the  knights  is  withered,  for 
want  of  this  holy  bread ;  and  summoned  no  more  to 
holy  warfare  in  far  countries,  they  wander  pale,  de- 
jected, and  lacking  a  leader ;  and  Titurel,  the  old  com- 
mander, to  whom  was  first  committed  the  cup  and  the 
spear,  the  father  of  Amfortas,  hopeless  of  ever  behold- 


356     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

ing  again  the  refulgence  of  tlie  Grail,  has  just  ex- 
pired. 

Parsifal  hears  this  with  intense  anguish,  and  la- 
ments that  he  has  brought  all  this  woe,  since  some 
heinous  guilt  must  still  cling  to  him  that  no  atonement 
or  expiation  can  banish,  and  that  he  who  was  selected 
to  save  men  must  wander  undirected,  and  miss  the  path 
of  safety.  He  is  about  to  fall,  when  Gurnemanz  sup- 
ports him,  and  seats  him  on  a  grassy  knoll.  Kundry, 
in  anxious  haste,  brings  a  basin  of  water ;  but  Gurne- 
manz waves  her  off,  saying  that  only  the  pilgrim's 
bath  can  wash  away  his  stains;  and  they  turn  him 
about  to  the  edge  of  the  spring.  While  Gurnemanz 
takes  off  his  corselet  and  the  rest  of  his  heavy  armor, 
Kundry,  kneeling,  removes  the  greaves  from  his  legs, 
and  bathes  his  feet  in  the  healing  spring.  The  armor 
removed,  Parsifal  appears  clad  in  a  soft  white  tunic, 
with  a  cord  about  the  waist,  and  his  long,  light  hair, 
in  wavy  masses,  flows  back  upon  his  neck.  There  is 
no  mistaking-  the  likeness,  in  this  meek  and  noble  face 
and  figure.  Shall  I  straight  be  giiided  to  Anif ortas  ? 
asks  Parsifal,  wearily.  Surely,  says  Gurnemanz,  we 
go  at  once  to  the  obsequies  of  the  beloved  chief.  The 
Grail  will  be  again  uncovered,  and  the  long-neglected 
office  be  performed.  As  the  knight  speaks,  Parsifal 
observes,  with  wonder,  Kundry  humbly  washing  his 
feet,  and  gazes  on  her  with  a  tender  compassion. 
Taking  water  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  Gurnemanz 
sprinkles  his  head.  Blessed  be  thou,  pure  one.  Care 
and   sin   are   driven   from   thee !      Kundry,    from   a 


WAGNER'S  PARSIFAL.  357 

golden  flask,  pours  oil  upon  Parsifal's  feet,  and  dries 
them  with  the  long  tresses  of  her  black  hair,  which 
she  has  unbound  for  the  purpose.  Then  Parsifal 
takes  from  her  the  flask,  and  desires  Gurnemanz  to 
anoint  his  head ;  for  he  is  that  day  to  be  appointed 
king.  Gurnemanz,  pouring  the  oil,  declares  him  their 
king,  and  the  rescuer  from  sin.  And  thus  I  fulfill 
my  duty,  murmurs  Parsifal,  as  he,  unperceived,  scoops 
water  from  the  spring,  and,  stooping  to  the  kneeling 
and  heart-broken  Kundry,  sprinkles  her  head.  "Be 
thou  baptized,  and  trust  in  the  Redeemer."  Kundry 
bows  her  head  to  the  earth,  and  weeps  uncontrollably. 
As  Parsifal  raises  both  hands,  the  fingers  of  one  ex- 
tended in  blessing,  we  recognize  the  figTire  and  very 
attitude  of  our  Lord  in  that  famous  old  painting, 
where  he  is  seated,  blessing  little  children.  The  Mag- 
dalen, shaken  with  penitence,  and  yet  weeping  for  joy, 
is  cast  at  his  feet.  The  aged  knight  stands  in  solemn 
rapture.  The  scene  is  inexpressibly  touching.  The 
music  is  full  of  pathos  and  solemn  sympathy. 

How  fair  the  fields  and  meadows  seem  to-day !  ex- 
claims Parsifal,  gazing  with  gentle  enjoyment  upon 
the  landscape.  This  is  Good-Friday's  spell,  my  lord  ! 
exclaims  Gurnemanz.  The  sad,  repentant  tears  of 
sinners  have  besprinkled  field  and  plain  with  holy 
dew,  and  made  them  glow  with  beauty.  As  Gurne- 
manz discourses  of  the  redemption  of  man  and  nature, 
the  transformed  Kundry  slowly  raises  her  head,  and 
gazes  with  moist  eyes  and  beseeching  look,  out  of 
which  all  eartlily  passion  has  completely  gone,  up  to 


358     NOTES   OF  A   ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

Parsifal.  Thou  weepest.  See!  tlie  landscape  glow- 
eth,  he  gently  says,  and,  stooping,  softly  kisses  her 
brow.  Who  would  recognize  in  the  pure,  sweet,  spir- 
itual face  of  this  forgiven  sinner  the  temptress  of  the 
gardens  ?  I  know  not  how  this  whole  scene  may  aj)- 
pear  in  the  coldness  of  description,  but  I  believe  that 
there  was  no  one  who  witnessed  it,  and  heard  the 
strains  of  melting  music  which  interpreted  it,  who  was 
not  moved  to  the  depths  of  his  better  nature,  or  for  a 
moment  thought  that  the  drama  passed  the  limits  of 
propriety. 

The  pealing  of  distant  bells  is  heard  growing  louder. 
Gurnemanz  brings  a  coat  of  mail  and  the  mantle  of 
the  Knights  of  the  Holy  Grail,  with  which  Parsifal  is 
invested.  The  landscape  changes.  The  wood  gradu- 
ally disappears,  as  the  three  march  on  in  silence ;  and 
when  they  are  hidden  behind  the  rocky  entrances  of 
the  caverns,  processions  of  mourning  laiights  appear 
in  the  arched  passages.  The  bells  peal  ever  louder, 
and  soon  the  gTeat  hall  is  disclosed.  From  one  side 
the  knights  bear  in  the  bier  of  Titurel,  and  from  the 
other  the  litter  of  Amfortas,  preceded  by  the  attend- 
ants with  the  covered  shrine  of  the  Grail.  The  effects 
of  color  and  grouping  are  marvelous ;  and  to  eyes  fa- 
miliar with  the  sacred  paintings  of  the  masters,  almost 
every  figure  and  dress  is  a  reminiscence  of  some  dear 
association.  The  angelic  loveliness  of  the  bearers  of 
the  shrine,  however,  surpasses  any  picture,  as  much  as 
life  transcends  any  counterfeit  of  it. 

At  the  sight  of  the  body  of  Titurel  there  is  a  cry  of 


WAGNER'S  PARSIFAL.  359 

distress,  in  which  Amfortas  joins  ;  and  the  knights 
press  upon  the  hitter,  urging  him  to  uncover  the  shrine 
and  do  his  office.  With  a  cry  of  despair  he  disen- 
gages himself,  tears  open  his  mantle  and  discloses  the 
wound,  and  invokes  the  knights  to  bury  their  swords 
in  his  breast,  and  kill  at  one  stroke  the  sinner  and  his 
pain.  At  this  moment,  Parsifal,  who  has  entered, 
with  his  attendants,  unperceived,  starts  forward,  and, 
stretching  out  his  spear  point,  touches  the  wounded 
side.  Only  the  weapon  that  struck  can  staunch  thy 
wounded  side.  Amfortas,  who  feels  liimself  instantly 
healed,  can  scarcely  support  himself,  for  joyful  rap- 
ture. As  Parsifal  raises  high  the  spear,  the  shining 
point  is  red  as  blood,  and  the  whole  assembly,  falling 
upon  their  knees,  adore  it.  Parsifal  assumes  the  king- 
ship, takes  his  place  behind  the  altar,  and  commands 
the  cup  of  the  Grail  to  be  uncovered.  Taking  it  in 
his  hand,  and  raising  it  on  high,  the  crystal  burns 
again  like  a  ruby ;  from  the  dome  a  white  dove  de- 
scends, and  hovers  over  him ;  Kundry  —  peace  at  last, 
stricken  soul !  —  falls  dying ;  the  knights  are  gazing 
upward  in  rapture  ;  and  out  of  the  heights  come  down 
soft  and  hardly  audible  voices  in  a  chant  of  benedic- 
tion. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  we  went  out  into  the  still 
lingering  twilight.  I,  for  one,  did  not  feel  that  I  had 
assisted  at  an  opera,  but  rather  that  I  had  witnessed 
some  sacred  drama,  perhaps  a  modern  miracle  play. 
There  were  many  things  in  the  performance  that  sepa- 
rated it  by  a  whole  world  from  the  opera,  as  it  is  usu- 


360     NOTES   OF  A    ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

ally  understood.    The  drama  had  a  noble  theme  ;  there 
was  unity  of  x-)urpose  throughout,  and  unity  in  the  or- 
chestra, the  singing,  and  the  scenery.     There  were  no 
digressions,  no  personal  excursions  of  singers,  exhibit- 
ino-  themselves  and  their  voices,  to  destroy  the  illusion. 
The  orchestra  was  a  part  of  the  story,  and  not  a  mere 
accompaniment.     The  players  never  played,  the  sing- 
ers never  sang,  to  the  audience.    There  was  not  a  solo, 
duet,  or  any  concerted  piece  "for  effect."     No  per- 
former came  down  to  the  foot-lights  and  appealed  to 
the  audience,  expecting  an  encore.     No  applause  was 
given,  no  encores  were  asked,  no  singer  turned  to  the 
spectators.     There  was  no  connection  or  communica- 
tion between  the  stage  and  the  audience.    Yet  I  doubt 
if  singers  in  any  opera  ever  made  a  more  profound  im- 
pression, or  received  more  real  applause.     They  were 
satisfied  that  they  were  producing  the  effect  intended. 
And  the  composer  must  have  been  content  when  he 
saw  the  audience  so  take  his  design  as  to  pay  his  crea- 
tion the  homage  of  rapt  appreciation  due  to  a  great 
work  of  art. 


A  genial  exponent  of  the  best  American  thought.  —  London  Examiner. 

WRITINGS   OF 

CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER 


A  ROUNDABOUT  JOURNEY. 

A  New  Volume.     12mo,  $1.50. 

Mr.  Warner  has  a  genius  for  traveling.  By  some  mys- 
terious gift  he  always  happens  to  see  the  most  interesting 
objects,  the  most  important  persons,  and  the  most  signifi- 
cant events  of  the  time  and  country  in  which  he  travels. 
Fortunately  for  us  he  has  also  a  peculiar  felicity  and  humor 
in  recording  what  he  sees,  so  that  his  volumes  of  travel  are 
at  once  amonor  the  most  informing  and  the  most  charming 
books  of  modern  literature.  During  the  past  year  Mr. 
Warner  spent  many  months  in  Europe,  principally  in  the 
countries  bordering  on  the  Mediterranean,  and  made  aa 
excursion  into  Africa.  The  experiences  and  observations 
of  these  months  he  depicts  in  the  above  volume. 


MY  WINTER  ON  THE  NILE. 

Wew  EdUion,  revised,  with  an  Index.     Crown  8vo,  $2.00. 

This  book  comprises  the  first  part  of  the  experiences  and 
observations  of  a  journey  in  the  East  by  Mr.  Warner  a 
few  years  ago.  It  relates  to  Egypt,  while  its  continuation, 
"  In  the  Levant,"  describes  the  people  and  sights  of  Pal- 
estine, Turkey,  and  other  countries  bordering  on  the  eastern 
Mediterranean. 

I  still  feel  the  fascination  of  Egypt  so  strongly  that  it  would  have 
been  hard  for  me  to  read  a  book  in  which  it  was  not  apparent.  I 
have  read  the  book  from  beginning  to  end  without  having  to  stop 
and  shake  my  head  once.  If  you  should  think  this  only  negative 
praise,  you  must  remember  that  my  literary  standard  is  rather  high 
and  severe.  A  book  written  for  the  people  must  be  entertaining, 
first  of  all ;  but  it  may  be  written  so  as  to  carry  them  a  step  forward 
in  taste  and  the  appreciation  of  sound  literary  work.  I  tliiiik  you 
have  done  tin's,  and  hope  you  will  be  rewarded  by  immense  sales.  — 
Bayard  Taylor. 

Mr.  Warner's  pictures  of  Oriental  men,  manners,  and  incidents  are, 
to  one  who  has  lived  so  long  in  the  East  as  I  have,  positively  photo- 
graphic reproductions.  How  could  a  passing  traveler  so  tlioroughly 
appreciate  and  so  sharply  outline  the  peculiarities  of  all  classes  of 
people  1  —  Gen.  L.  P.  Di  Cesnola. 


IN  THE  LEVANT. 

With  an  Index.     Crown,  8vo,  $2.00. 

It  is  not  often  that  of  a  volume  of  recent  Eastern  travel  it  can  be 
honestly  said  that  it  is  more  llian  hard  to  find  a  single  dull  page  in 
the  whole  four  hundred  ;  but  even  more  may  be  said  for  Mr.  War- 
ner's well-seasoned,  graphic  record  of  his  adventures.  From  first  to 
last  he  has  the  same  unflagging  spirit,  the  same  sparkle  of  humor 
and  power  of  observation.  —  London  Standard. 

Being  a  writer  of  keen  observation,  and  one  accustomed  to  select 
what  may  be  called  representative  features,  the  result  is  tliat  his  de- 
scriptions are  remarkably  vivid  and  lively.  Besides,  there  is  a  vein 
of  refined  and  delicate  iiumor  running  tlirough  the  whole.  Part  of 
the  time  it  is  latent,  but  this  affords  an  o])portuuity  for  pleasant  sur- 
prises. In  fact  the  author's  chief  jjower  lies  in  tlie  rich  humor  which 
pervades  both  tliouglit  and  style.  In  tliis  quality  he  ranks  far  above 
every  other  American  writer.  It  is  seen  in  its  highest  perfection  in 
that  inimitable  creation,  "  My  Summer  in  a  Garden."  There  the 
sul)ject  was  eminenily  fitted  for  manifesting  that  kind  of  genius;  and 
the  worlv  is  one  which  will  always  be  fresli,  though  it  is  read  for  the 
twentieth  time  or  by  the  twentieth  generation.  —  The  Churclunan 
(New  York). 

William  C.  Prime,  LL.  D.,  speaking  of  "My  Winter  on  the 
Nile  "  and  "  In  the  Levant,"  says:  "  Whether  one  has  been  in  the 
East,  or  is  going  to  the  East,  or  does  not  expect  ever  to  go,  these 
books  are  of  all  travel  books  the  best,  because  most  truthful  and  com- 
panionable guides,  having  in  them  the  very  atmosphere  and  sunlight 
of  the  Orient." 


MY  SUMMER  IN   A  GARDEN. 

Neio  Edition,  exAiXYgQiX.  16mo,  $1.00.  The  Sajie.  Illus- 
trated Edition.  With  12  full-page  Illustrations,  by 
Darley.     Square  16mo,  $1.50. 

You  cannot  open  his  book  without  lighting  on  something  fresh  and 
fragrant.  Every  page  abounds  with  mellow  and  juicy  fruits,  show- 
ing that  whatever  success  may  attend  Ins  use  of  the  hoe  and  spade, 
he  knows  how  to  handle  the  pen  with  admirable  effect.  —  New  York 
'Tribune. 

In  the  wisdom  and  wit  of  the  thoughts,  and  the  grace  of  the  style, 
this  book  is  so  good  as  to  bring  to  the  reader's  mind,  now  Holmes, 
then  Curtis,  and  again  Mitchell,  and  finnlly  to  leave  the  conviction 
that  Mr.  Warner  is  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  but  quite  the  peer 
of  either.  —  Springfield  Republican. 

This  is  a  set  of  luimorons  papers  describing  tlic  experiences  of  an 
amateur  who  busies  liimself  for  the  first  lime  with  the  cultivation  of 
a  garden,  humorous  with  that  qtiiet  humtn-  in  which,  as  well  as  in  its 
very  antipodes,  the  wildly  extravagant,  the  Americans  seem  to  ex- 
cel. —  2  he  Spectator  (Lonilun). 

Charles  Lamb  might  have  written  it  if  he  had  had  a  garden.— 
Quarierlj  Review  (London). 


BACKLOG  STUDIES. 

With   21    Illustrations  by  AlXtUSTUS  Hoppin.      Square 

l6mo,  $1.50. 

This  book  discusses  in  the  most  charming  way  such  mat- 
ters as  Criticism,  the  Great  New  England  Pie-line,  the 
Furnishino-  of  Rooms,  the  Progress  of  Civilization,  the 
Worth  of^Oriental  Classics,  the  Work  of  Reformers,  Wo- 
men Novelists,  the  Clothes  Question,  Gothic  Architecture 
in  Modern  Churches,  Life  at  Concord,  Speech  and  Custom 
in  Boston,  Social  Popularity,  Misdirected  Energy,  the 
Personality  of  Authors  in  their  Books,  the  Value  of  the 
Stase  as  a  Mirror  of  Nature. 

One  might  sav  tliat  the  studies  are  wise  and  witty,  and  tender  and 
fanciful,  and  incisive  and  shrewd ;  all  that  is  true,  but  the  whole 
truth  is  something  more.  There  is  a  certain  sober  dryness  and  whnn- 
sical  seriousness  about  them,  which  sets  Mr.  Warner  apart  from 
other  humorists  of  our  time.  —  Boston  Advertiser. 


BADDEGK  AND  THAT  SORT  OF  THING. 

"  Little  Classic  "  style.     18mo,  $1.00. 

Baddeck  is  a  small  town  in  the  island  of  Cape  Breton.  However, 
the  interest  of  the  book  does  not  centre  there,  or  anywhere  ;  but  it 
flows  all  along  the  very  devious  route  which  the  author  was  compelled 
to  take  in  orcfer  to  arrive  there  ;  and  it  is  an  interest  which  increases 
with  every  moment.  One  of  the  freshest  and  most  enjoyable  books 
of  the  kind  we  have  ever  read.  —  2'Ae  Churchman  (New  York). 

For  perfect  drollery  of  situation  and  sentiment,  and  the  daintiest 
surprises  of  fun,  and'  for  the  traveler's  good-humored  perception  of 
absurdities,  told  with  sprightliness  and  tbe  most  charming  abandon, 
we  account  Mr.  Warner's  descri])tion  of  his  pilgrimage  to  Baddeck 
as  one  of  the  most  wittily  playful  things  in  our  literature  since  the 
"  Sentimental  Journey."' —  Christian  Union  (New  York). 

BEING  A  BOY. 

Illustrated  by  Champnet.     Square  16mo,  $1.50. 

It  is  an  elderly  boy's  reminiscences  and  reflections  upon  boyhood, 
the  actual  boyhood  which  he  lovingly  remembers.  The  book  is  full 
of  the  drv,  unexpected  humor  of  whi'ch  Mr.  Warner  is  a  ma>ter,  and 
is  equally  delightful  to  bovs  of  all  ages  from  six  to  say  sixty  or  sev- 
enty years.  It  is  full  of  "clever  pictures,  too. — New  iork  Evening 
Post. 

It  is  charming  alike  in  stvle,  treatment,  and  temper.  .  .  .  The 
chapters  on  "  The  Boy  as  a  Farmer."  "  The  Bov's  Sunday,"  "  The 
Grindstone  of  Life,"  "  The  Comino-of  Thanksgiving,"  "  The  Season 
of  Pumpkin-Pie,"  "John's  First  Party,"  "  The  Sugar  Camp,"  and 
"  John's  Revival,"  are  especially  readable.  —  San  Francisco  Bulletin. 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS. 

New   Edition,   enlarged.     '•  Little  Classic "  style.      18mo, 

75  ceuts. 

One  great  charm  of  Mr.  Dudley  Warner's  sylvan  recreations  is 
that  he  never  repeats  himself.  His  to-days  are  never  yesterdays,  but 
always  fresh  with  the  breeze  and  the  fragrance  of  the  passing  moment. 
In  this  volume  he  takes  us  once  more  to  the  Adirondacks,  treading 
over  the  familiar  ground  of  the  summer  tourist,  but  always  reveal- 
ing a  new  beauty  in  tlie  forest,  a  new  glory  in  the  river,  a  new  joy 
in  the  heart  of  Nature.  —  New  York  Tribune. 

It  is  as  fresh  and  fragrant  of  the  woods  as  anything  that  Tlioreau 
ever  wrote,  having  in  it  also  a  spicy  flavor  of  humor  that  was  but 
slightly  possessed  by  that  forest  philosopher.  —  Philadelphia Jiulletin. 


SAUNTERINGS. 
"Little  Classic  "  style,     18mo,  $L25. 

The  book  is  made  up  of  a  series  of  sketches,  written  in  the  most 
unpretending  and  familiar  manner,  concerning  peculiarities  in  the 
life,  customs,  and  appearance  of  most  of  the  countries  and  towns 
usually  included  in  the  "  grand  tour."  It  is  not  only  thoroughly  en- 
tertaining, but  exceedingly  instructive.  —  New  York  EceniiKj  Post. 

His  journey  was  confined  to  England,  France,  Belgium,  Holland, 
Switzerland,  Bavaria,  and  Italy,  —  countries  rendered  commonplace 
by  the  books  of  innumerable  tourists,  but  which  he  Warnerizes,  and 
makes  his  own.  He  not  merely  addresses  his  readers  ;  he  takes  them 
with  him.  —  E.  P.  Whipple. 

A  perfect  book  of  travel.  —  New  York  Evening  Mail. 


WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

In  "  American  Men  of  Letters  "  Series.     With  fine  Por- 
trait.    16mo,  gilt  top,  $1.25  ;  half  morocco,  $3.00. 

Mr.  Warner  has  not  only  written  with  sympathy,  minute  knowl- 
edge of  his  subject,  fine  literary  taste,  and  that  easy,  fascinating 
style  which  alwiiys  puts  him  on'  such  good  terms  with  his  readers, 
but  he  has  shown  a  tact,  critical  sagacity,  and  sense  of  jn-oportion 
full  of  iiromise  for  tlie  rest  of  the  scrieswhich  is  to  pass  under  his 
supervision.  —  New  York  Tribune. 

It  is  a  very  chnrming  piece  of  literary  work,  and  presents  the  reader 
with  an  excellent  picture  of  Irving  as  a  man  and  of  bis  methods  as 
an  author,  together  with  an  accurate  and  discriminating  character- 
ization of  his  works.  —  Boston  Journal. 

A  deliirbtfully  written  book,  investing  with  fresh  charm  the  fa- 
miliar story  of  Irviiig's  life  and  discussing  the  character  of  his 
genius  and  art  with  fine  appreciation  and  perception.  —  Buffalo  Cou- 
. rier. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO.,  Publishers,  Boston. 


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